


Incorrigible

by Adadzio



Series: Smut [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Dom!Stannis, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Jealousy, Master/Pet, Power Exchange, Protectiveness, Public Humiliation, Sexual Fantasy, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/pseuds/Adadzio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis Baratheon and his priestess battle for dominance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Incorrigible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre makes a risky request. Stannis surprises them both, setting off a tumultuous game of submission and domination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Incorrigible!
> 
>  **Chapter One Prompts:** "Stannis + leather"/”Mel is shocked by Stannis chuckling during”/"sub!Mel"
> 
> The always ~~devilish~~ awesome justinmassey/deisegal drew some [art](http://justinmassey.tumblr.com/post/127339594142/the-leather-belt-lay-abandoned-on-the-bed-next-to) for this fic!

[ _ _ ](http://ropemarks.deviantart.com)

* * *

_Smack!_

“Three…”

_Smack!_

“F-four…”

A pause.

Melisandre held her breath, bracing her body for the next blow. Yet it never came.

“No…no, that’s not enough. More, please,” she pleaded eagerly.

Still nothing. Melisandre heard a strange noise behind her. She finally craned her head quizzically over her shoulder, and what she saw stunned her.

He was chuckling darkly, uncontrollably. Stannis Baratheon— _her king!—_ the man who rarely ever smiled, and certainly never laughed. He was nearly doubled over with laughter now, leather belt still in hand.

“Stannis!” she reprimanded in shock.

The king only shook his head sharply, attempting to explain himself in between barks of laughter. “You beg like a harpy at the fish market.”

Melisandre furrowed her eyebrows, huffing indignantly. Stannis forced an end to his laughter when he saw the pout on his priestess’ face. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I did not mean to offend, my lady,” he assured her, mouth still turning up in dry amusement. “But we are _not_ continuing with this depraved idiocy.”

“Please, my king…what did I say? You need only play along,” she insisted, her tone still cross. “It will seem foolish otherwise.”

Stannis considered her form, still bent at the waist before him on the wooden table in his chamber. “It  _is_ foolish. Absurd. I don't harm women for amusement.”

The priestess sighed, finally straightening up and brushing her scarlet skirts down. “Did you not enjoy it even a little, Sire?” She smiled suggestively. “I did…”

Grimacing, Stannis snapped, “How could I enjoy subjecting you to this vulgarity? To such  _abuse_?”

Melisandre studied him patiently. “Perhaps,” she began cautiously, “we could try again?” The king grit his teeth, ready to object, even as she ran her fingers soothingly across his clenched jaw. She continued gently, “I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable, your Grace. The whole point is for you to be in control while _I_ am subjected to the…discipline.” 

Sighing irritably, he searched her eyes for a moment. “This is what you want?” he finally asked, his tone doubting, and not for the first time that evening. “For me to…hurt you, degrade you? You truly desire that?” 

A hopeful smile crept onto her face. “I would not have brought it up in the first place, had I not been longing for this for weeks…”

He flushed with embarrassment. Another long moment passed as he reticently considered her request.

“Very well,” he conceded, shaking his head incredulously. Then with some force he insisted, “We shall resume your foolish game, but entirely on my terms.” 

“Your terms,” she agreed in a sing-song tone. 

Stannis inhaled sharply, and she did the same, awaiting his next move eagerly. “Bend back over.” She did so quickly, and he uneasily pushed her skirts back above her hips. “Five...” He hesitated, then continued with more certainty. “I will deliver five lashes.” He hadn’t the faintest clue what he would do after that. With any luck his priestess would be satisfied, and they could forget this ever occurred. “You will not count—will not speak _at all_ —unless spoken to. When you answer, you will address me properly. Is that understood?”

Melisandre bit her lip to keep from beaming at his newfound confidence. “Yes, your Grace.” 

“Very well.” He tightened the belt back around his gloved knuckles, feeling the material crack with tension between his own rigid fingers. Without warning, he brought the leather down firmly on her bare backside. 

“Oh!” She gasped, caught off guard.

“Did I not command silence?”

“No, you commanded me not to spea—”

The second blow fell even harder, and she sensibly bit her tongue. Her moans never escaped as the leather bit into her skin again and again _. Three,_ she calculated silently. _Four._ Her skin was burning pleasantly. Far too pleasantly. It would be over soon, but she needed so much more… 

When the fifth stroke fell her plea slipped out. “Please!”

Stannis sighed in annoyance. “It would seem that you are incapable of following simple instruction. I cannot tolerate disobedience.” He clenched the belt in his hand. “Shall I add to your punishment?" 

_Oh, yes…hurt me, touch me, use me..._ “If it please your Grace,” Melisandre acquiesced sweetly.  _  
_

When she felt his fingers lightly stroke between her legs, she moaned triumphantly. There was no mistaking her arousal evident on his glove. “I think it pleases _you_ just fine,” he retorted coolly, though the strain in his voice betrayed his own desire.

“I’ll not deny it.” She added brazenly, “It _was_ my idea in the first place—”

Five rapid blows were the reward for her insolence. She was panting, moaning openly by the last of them, hands gripping, clawing at the smooth table desperately. He fisted his fingers in the fiery hair at the nape of her neck and pulled back sharply, until her back was nearly flush to his chest. But he kept his distance, as he always did _. Not for long,_ she thought determinedly. _If I could just touch him—_

“Did we not agree,” he hissed against her ear, “that we would do this on my terms?”

“We did, your Grace.” Melisandre arched her back until her bottom brushed against his hardness, stiff and aching through layers of clothing. _Ah…her king had enjoyed this, after all._ The corners of her lips turned up. “It is just that—“

“Stop that.” Stannis jerked away from her burning heat, his free hand coming to grip her hip harshly. He held her at a distance once again, voice demanding. “What do you want from me, woman? First you beg me to strike you, then you disobey my terms in doing so. Tell me plainly what you want.”

“Only to please you in all things, my king. Grant me leave to continue with the game…” 

The king turned her to face him. “And what would that entail?” he asked warily.

“Anything you desire," she suggested. "Everything you command.” Before he had time to respond, to react, Melisandre was falling to her knees before him, delicately stroking his lean calves. To his horror, she leaned up further on her knees to nuzzle his thighs, pressing kisses there.

“Now you look like a kitten rather than a fishwife,” he remarked dryly, yet his voice was anxious. It was Melisandre’s turn to laugh. She smiled coyly up at him.

“Is that such a terrible image?” she teased lightly. Stannis grimaced. _Was she willingly comparing herself to a feline?_

“You wish so much for me to order you about? Then stand up,” he demanded in exasperation, increasingly uncomfortable by her position and ministrations on the floor.

Melisandre pouted. _As if that would have any affect on him…_ her fingers danced dangerously close to his groin. _N_ _o!_   He would end this game now, because now she was— _gods._ He was growing harder under her touch.  _No, no, no…he could not allow this to continue..._ but the look in her eyes was so very charming.  _Seven hells…_ what was one more desire he granted her, if it stopped her damned nagging? 

_If it brought a smile to her lips...?_

“Fine,” he said simply, gritting his teeth so hard his head began to pound. “We will continue your foolish game. But you must concede to another of my terms.”

Melisandre grinned eagerly. “Anything, your Grace, any—“

“You will not touch me.”

Her smile fell. “But…but that’s not—” 

“Do you understand?”

She did not respond immediately, still sulking on the floor. This was not what she had expected, not at all...

“Evidently not," he muttered. "Turn around." She raised an eyebrow, feeling less inspired by their game now that he had taken away her sense of touch. Still, she moved dutifully to stand on her feet. “No,” he said sardonically, “you missed that opportunity. You will remain on your knees.” She stared unbelievingly at him. When his expression remained stern, she hesitatingly obeyed, shifting on her knees to turn away from him. 

“Undress." She shrugged awkwardly out of her gown, allowing it to pool on the cold floor around her. "Your arms behind your back.”

Shooting him an unhappy look over her shoulder, she slowly brought her arms behind her. Apparently this was not quick enough for him, as he leaned down and caught both her wrists roughly in one of his large hands. With the other he began to bind her arms tightly together, utilizing the same belt he had used to discipline her just moments before. Once the binding was secure he considered his handiwork with some interest—noting the way the dark leather contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin. The effect was not entirely unappealing, he decided. 

In fact, it was most intriguing. His priestess who was always so confident, so infuriatingly serene, was now squirming uneasily. Pulling her to her feet by her bound arms, he was oddly pleased with her whimpers, the way she shifted unsteadily. 

“Kneel on the bed,” he instructed. She glanced uncertainly at him, increasingly aware that he was not going to assist her. Exhaling sharply, she padded to the bed, maneuvered herself atop the linens, and waited, squirming under his gaze. For some inexplicable reason the more uncomfortable she was, the calmer he felt. _In control._ He was in control. She could not touch him, could not speak out of turn, could not even see him. It lessened the humiliation of sex considerably.

His gloved hand coaxed her torso down to the bed, down, down, until her cheek rested on the bedding and her scarlet hair tumbled over her shoulders. She shivered at the contact. She had not heard him approach the bed.

“Now you could certainly pass for a common shrew, or a whore,” he noted coolly, “though as it turns out, you would prefer to be regarded as an animal.”

She glowered at his cruel taunting, but felt her thighs grow damper all the same. Even for Melisandre, the position seemed dirty. _Her bare bottom was raised in the air!_ It was utterly licentious.

He tsked. “A dilemma, to be sure. We cannot have you claiming to be a lady whilst you lay so wantonly. So which shall we call you?” He pulled her hair sharply. “Kitten or wench?" She scowled and said nothing. “I asked you a question.” He brought his hand forcefully against her sore backside. 

“Kitten,” she gasped, defiance slipping.

“Is that how you address your king?”

“No, Sire…” she corrected herself, face burning with shame. “I would…prefer to be called kitten, Sire.”

He chuckled darkly for the second time that night. “Very well, kitten.”

At her king’s low voice the priestess felt a surge of desire in her veins, fire burning deep in her belly, running down her trembling thighs. She held her breath, waiting eagerly for his next move, his next command. She dared not breathe, let alone speak.

After a moment Stannis sighed as if in pain. “What am I to do with you?”

“Your Grace…?”

He held a gloved hand near her face so she could clearly observe the moisture there. “You are dirtying my sheets, kitten,” he grimaced.

Again Melisandre felt her face flush scarlet. She could offer no explanation, no excuse for her debased lust. “Please…” was the best she could manage, thighs rubbing together desperately. Her arms were beginning to ache in their binding. 

Still, Stannis stood aloof at the end of the bed, observing her degradation with a frown. “‘Please?’ What am I to make of that?”

Finally she could bear it no longer; she was nearly weeping with longing. “Take me! Beat me if you must. Only touch me, your Grace, allow me to please you!” To her relief she finally heard movement behind her. _Was he undressing?_ _Please, oh please,_ touch _me…_

“Perhaps this pleases me. To see you unsatisfied, writhing like an animal upon my bed. After all, you are my pet...”

Melisandre wished to scream, but forced herself to cling onto her last bit of patience, screwing her eyes shut. _Stannis is no natural sadist. He must crack any moment now, he must…_

He continued, “You said you wanted to please me in all things. So, tell me: was that a lie?” 

“No,” she insisted tearfully. "Never, your Grace…"

“Good.” She felt him then, hard and bare between her thighs. “Luckily for you, kitten, this pleases me just fine.” With that he pushed inside her.

So desperate she was, so bursting with need, that she did not even attempt to hold back her moans, burying them instead against the sheets. He kept one hand on her hip, steadying her, and the other ran down her curve of her bottom, still rosy from his belt. Over her bound arms his hand traveled, up her pale spine, curling about her delicate ribcage. His leather-clad fingers finally snaked about her neck, pressing her further into the bedding. With every thrust her whimpers grew louder.

Stannis’ own voice was hoarse. “Is there something you wish to say?”’ 

“Please…”

“Tell me.”

“Harder!”

Instead, he slowed his hips to rock against hers; a sweet, deliberate torture. Realizing her error too late, she keened helplessly, beautiful features contorted in agony. 

"You presume to make demands of me?" He tightened his grip around her throat. "It seems you need a reminder of what you are. _Say it_."

Melisandre's voice was little more than a whisper. "I am your p-pet…but _please_ , your Grace..."

“Surely you can beg prettier than that.”

“Please, oh please, use me harder," she cried. "I beg of you, Sire!”

"Insatiable little thing," he muttered, but he finally acquiesced. True to her role, she mewled and clawed blindly at her leather constraints, pushing back against him shamelessly. Before long, release came violently upon her, and she tightened around him almost painfully. He followed her shortly over the edge, spilling himself inside her.

For Melisandre the world had dissolved into a pleasant haze, her senses blending together into one blinding ecstasy. By the time she came entirely to her senses, she realized he had already set his clothing right. She shifted uncomfortably, limbs screaming with fatigue.

“Your Grace...the bonds…"

He quickly released her, and she collapsed happily upon the bed, rolling onto her back. When she laid eyes on him—all silence and self-loathing—she held her arching arms out. He jerked away from her skin, refusing to meet her eyes, but lay back stiffly next to her. Though she wanted nothing more than to touch him in that moment, Melisandre knew better than to do so. She respected his space, opting to rest on her side instead.

After a moment she broke the silence. “Thank you,” she said softly. 

His expression was unreadable. “Do not thank me.“

Melisandre finally leaned forward to kiss him affectionately. “But it was perfect...everything I wanted. You were quite impressive,” she admitted.

He simply lifted his eyebrows in disbelief, too spent to feign outrage at the night’s events. “You are an incorrigible minx.” 

“Not a kitten?”

The corner of his mouth lift slightly, even as he grumbled under his breath about her wicked games. She only purred lazily, peppering his face and neck with little kisses.

She could play the kitten, certainly, meek and submissive. But she was one who bit back. Melisandre smirked deviously against his skin, unseen by him _. A master owns his pet only as much as she owns him..._

The leather belt lay abandoned on the bed next to her king. 

_Yes_ , she decided, eyeing it curiously. They would play another game very soon, and he would learn a lesson of his own.


	2. Insatiable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis may be iron, but his priestess always gets what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this inspirational prompt from richardhorpe: "Stannis/Mel bondage with Stannis as the one all tied up."
> 
> Enjoy!  
> xx

“This was a mistake.”

“What did I say, hmm?” Melisandre scolded gently, prying his arms back above his head.

Stannis grimaced. “'Give it a fair trial.’”

Smiling tranquilly, she bound his crossed wrists to the headboard, then slinked down his body to tighten the rope around his ankles. 

“You are a sight, my king,” she purred.

And indeed he was. Nude from the waist up, secured to both ends of her bed, and clenching his jaw forcefully, he was the most uncomfortable she had ever seen him.

_And the most irresistible._ Melisandre straddled him slowly, dragging the heat between her legs over his own groin. He groaned unwillingly, feeling her burning thighs even through her gown. “I am going to ravish you,” she informed him. Stannis was predictably scandalized.

“Hold your tongue and get on with it. Before I throw you out of this room.”

She laughed pleasantly. “And how, my king? You seem a bit tied up at the moment.” Before he could chastise her further, she peeled her gown apart. His eyes traced the white column of her neck to her firm breasts, then lower, to the full curves of her thighs and calves. Shifting her hips tantalizingly, Melisandre coaxed the fabric to fall away from her body. The silks were tossed to the floor without a second thought. “What do you think?“ she murmured, hands settling lightly on his chest. “Can you give this a fair trial?”

But his answers—like all of his objections—had gotten caught in his throat.

She leaned back further so that she could tug on the laces of his breeches. “Melisandre…” his voice held a hint of warning as she slid the garment down his legs. “I don’t think—”

“Shh,” she soothed, pressing her fingers lightly against his lips. “Don’t think.” With that she lowered her head and kissed him _there._

“ _Melisandre_.”

She pulled away to smile coolly at him. “Must I gag you, too, my king?”

His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare,” he grit out.

Her lips lifted in bold amusement. “Wouldn’t I?” Melisandre leaned back down and kissed him thoroughly then, lips trailing softly up his length, and then back down. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat when she brought her hand to the base of his cock, coaxing it to full hardness. “Is there something you need to say?” she teased, repeating his words from the night when _she_ had been bound and helpless. But Stannis refused to play into her game, even as her tongue darted out to taste him. He inhaled sharply. "How does that feel, my king?" She stroked him with her tongue again, fingers becoming more insistent. 

"If you think I will answer that—"

Melisandre tsked and raked her nails harshly down his thighs to silence him. "Oh, but I _do_. Because the same rules apply to you in this game, my king." He groaned as she continued to press her nails down, hard enough to break his skin. "You will speak when spoken to, and answer me properly." Her fingernails finally drew blood from him, and he gripped the restraints in discomfort. "Let us try again." She ran her hands down his heated cock once more. "How does it feel?"

Clenching his jaw, Stannis grumbled, "It feels fine."

"Oh, just fine?" She pouted, then pressed her lips to the tip of him. "Poor me," she murmured, proceeding to scrape her teeth gently down his length.

" _Woman_..." he hissed. 

 "Ah, ah. That is not the title we agreed upon, is it?" 

Stannis scowled dubiously at her. "You wish to be called _that_ again? After all those things I—we—" He broke off, face flushing at the memory. 

Her smile was wicked. "I have my reasons, which you will learn before I am through with you. Do you understand?" He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, _kitten_." This earned the humming approval of his priestess.

"Now…as I am a selfless individual, I should like to make you feel better than 'fine.'" Melisandre leaned up and away from his groin, withdrawing all  contact. "As such you will tell me what I should do."

Her king only squirmed against his bonds. "Absolutely not."

A deep sigh met his ears. "Disobedience, as you have said yourself, is unacceptable…" She reached over to the table next to the bed, hands finding the leather belt he had used on her the other night. "Shall I encourage you in other ways?" 

Aghast, Stannis concluded without a doubt that she was serious; he also concluded that he would sooner obey her than endure the humiliation of a whipping. " _No,_ damn you. I will play along."

"Good," she purred, shifting back to the bed. "So…what shall I do first?"

_Oh, gods, WHY had he agreed to this?_ He closed his eyes in agony.  _Stall for time…something…anything that brings the least amount of shame._ "Kiss me." _  
_

Melisandre's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she murmured, "fair enough." She leaned down to kiss him chastely on the lips. "Like that?" 

"No," he said, grinding his teeth all the while. 

"'No?' Not there, you mean?" 

Stannis said nothing as her lips skimmed his chest. "Here…?" Then lower to his navel. "Or here?" 

" _Lower,_ " he finally grit out. He no longer cared about the degradation. He was aching.

Her eyes met his brazenly. "Only a kiss?" She whispered against him.

"What you were doing. Before." 

Melisandre brought her hands back to his cock, eyes sparkling with delight. "Well, well. I suppose it was more than 'fine,' was it?" Her head lowered again, but rather than teasing him, she took him fully into her mouth. His hips bucked at the sudden stimulation.  _Seven hells, seven h—_ He dared to glance down at her, only to continue cursing at the sight of his priestess all but devouring him. 

She pulled away just as soon as she had begun, however, and he groaned in frustration. She only smiled calmly, repeating her earlier question. "How did that feel?" 

"Heavenly," he grudgingly admitted. When she failed to return to her ministrations he panicked. It was far too late to protect his dignity now. "Please."

"Please what?"

" _Continue_ , you sadistic hellcat." 

Melisandre tapped a finger scoldingly to his lips. "Come now, that is not the proper way to address me."

"You are no kitten. Kittens are not this cruel." 

"You are being dramatic..."

"I am being _mistreated_ ," he insisted. "This is cruel." 

"Hmm, but I enjoy watching you like this. If I am cruel…then so are you." At his furrowed expression she elaborated, "Was it not cruel when you took me from behind, with no way to find release? After lashing me with your belt, no less." Stannis scowled at the realization that she would not be satisfied until she had her full revenge from the other night. "If only I could deliver the same punishment to you…" she mused. "No matter. Shall I take you instead?"

The full threat of her words sank in, and he sighed impatiently. "Whatever you like, kitten." He was beaten, and he knew it. 

_It may be too much to ask Stannis Baratheon to beg, but he can be subdued a bit more, at the very least._  She stroked him gently, positioning herself so that he was brushing against her burning entrance. "Ask me to ride you." Her thighs dragged over his slowly. 

Evidently he was hoping that she would lose patience herself and simply mount him, but she had more determination than he had bargained for. His silence only earned him the tantalizing rock of her hips against his. "Don't be stubborn, my king…" Her fingers teased the tip of him, spreading the moisture that had gathered there. "I won't be satisfied until you say it." 

He finally spoke from behind clenched teeth. "Ride. Me."

Melisandre flashed him a victorious smile. "Ah…was that so difficult?" Thankfully she tortured him no longer. Lifting her hips, she gripped him between her thighs and slowly impaled herself upon him. He groaned with relief, but it was short-lived. His priestess refused to move for a moment, enjoying the newfound sensation of him stretching her so fully. They had never been together this way; Stannis would not allow it. It was too base, he said, having a woman on top, and that was the end of that.

But now, he was shifting his hips below her in desperation. "Look," she instructed, and he dutifully dragged his eyes to the forbidden point where their bodies were joined. She leaned down fully so that her breasts were teasing his chest and her lips found his. When he yielded and kissed her back, she finally rolled her hips into a steady rhythm, swallowing his moans into her own mouth. Her hands stroked his sinewy chest, the roughness of his face, the tensing muscles of his bound arms. The touch seemed to remind her king of his current bondage.

"I want to touch you," he rasped. She bit his lip in response, kissing her way down to his jaw. 

"As did I you, but you tied me up anyway," she reminded him smoothly. His cock nearly slipped out of her when she lifted herself higher, but she forced her hips fully back down. They both gasped in pained bliss, skin burning with heat and glistening with moisture. 

"I will still play your game, for your own pleasure," he insisted, pushing his hips up slightly to meet hers. 

Her eyebrow arched even as she panted with exertion. She was challenging him to beg. 

" _Please,_ my lady." At his submission the priestess granted him a ravishing smile. The rope around his wrists was blessedly loosened, then the rope about his ankles as she leaned back to tug upon it. There were deep red marks winding about his skin, and his arms felt as if they were on fire. Still, his hands found her skin easily, wrapping almost completely around her slight waist. She moaned, pleasantly surprised by the way his large palms traveled up her ribs to cup her breasts. Her hips were moving more rapidly now, both their breathing becoming strained. Dragging one of his hands down to her clit, he watched her eyes flutter shut. The king saw his chance. 

Melisandre's eyes flew open at the feeling of his hands gripping her bottom. When she was flipped promptly under him, noisy protestations spilled from her lips. 

He pulled her legs roughly around his waist, relieved to have some modicum of control again. Instead of addressing her complaints, he pushed deep inside her to coax a moan from her throat. "Yes, my pet?"

She scowled, pushing her fists against his arms, but he was stronger than she, and her struggling only spurred him on. She attempted to reprimand him further, but she was so close to pleasure that she could not get the words out. To her king's credit—or perhaps to his cruelty, she couldn't decide which—he brought his hand back between them, finding the center of nerves that made her mewl. She clenched around him then, and he began to unravel himself, yanking her legs up nearly to his shoulders. He finally groaned into her neck and thrust once, twice, three times. 

After, when he had collapsed amidst her tangle of ropes and red hair, he glanced over at his priestess. "I gave it a fair trial," he announced unduly.

"Mmm," she managed. He nearly elbowed her as he shifted to cover himself.

"Are you satisfied?"

"For now," she breathed, peeking out lazily from her hair to smile at him. "But I should like to dissuade you from any fantasies. You believe that you won in the end. But I have the upper hand, you know." 

Stannis held a sheet to his chest defensively. "How?"

"Because now when you call me your pet, thinking to tame me, you will be reminded of your own submission this night." She pulled the bedding forcefully from his grasp. "And you will remember the truth: that you belong to me."

He scoffed, but his cheeks burned at the act of being exposed again. "I do _not_ belong to you." 

"I think your Westerosi lords would say otherwise, had they seen Stannis Baratheon tied to my bed just now."

"Well, they did not," he said, horrified by the suggestion. "And this will never happen again."

Melisandre stretched like the kitten she claimed to be, and he was shocked to feel his lower regions stirring again. "Perhaps," she said vaguely. "But this game is far from over." His arousal did not escape her notice. Stannis watched warily as her fingers ghosted over her own thighs. "Go on," she murmured in provocation. "Call me an 'insatiable little thing' again." His eyes darkened, propriety a distant memory.

"Insatiable," he confirmed, reaching for her.


	3. Insufferable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis learns of a distressing rumor. Melisandre is put in her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is based on fat+joey's fantastic imagination ;)
> 
> xx

[ ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/445715694346949708/)

* * *

 “My king. You called for me?”

“Yes.” He waved her into his chamber at Castle Black with a distracted expression. “A matter has come to my attention, and I should like to rectify it.”

Melisandre tilted her head calmly. “Which matter?” Evidently a delicate one, as Stannis gave his guards a pointed look. They slinked outside, but their desirous stares did not escape her notice. _Nothing out of the ordinary there,_ she thought. Once the door had been closed again, he turned toward his priestess.

“It is a matter of your…role in my court.”

She raised her eyebrows. _That was unexpected_. “Whatever do you mean? Have I displeased you in some way?”

“Not quite. But I've overhead disturbing things, my lady. I must correct them before my next move in the North.” She had the decency to look concerned at his serious tone. His departure wasn't for some weeks still.  _Had he changed his mind about letting her stay at the Wall?_

“Your words are troubling, my king. Can I be of help?”

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “Bend over the desk. Skirt above your hips.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Melisandre scowled, but there was dry amusement on her face. “I've done nothing wrong. If you wanted to play this game, you could've just said so. But I’ll not be punished simply for entertainment.”

His eyes narrowed, voice dangerously soft. “Is that so?” He was standing so calmly then, his gaze cold and manipulative, it was as if their roles had been reversed. "This is a game to you, is it?" She felt a rush of desire in her veins, but she was not entirely in the mood to play submissive that day, so she raised an eyebrow and shifted toward the door.

“I have my own matters to attend to, if there is nothing else?”

“As it turns out, there is.” Stannis snapped his fingers, and the two guards entered again. They had not wandered far, it would seem. When she again considered the open longing in their gazes, her king’s intent became quite clear. “You may attend to your other matters, once you’ve obeyed mine. And unless you’d like my men to _encourage_ you, you had best do it quickly.” He leaned indifferently against the table, arms folded over his chest. “We wouldn’t want your reputation to suffer.”

She glanced anxiously at the men by the entrance, but they seemed all too eager to witness her degradation. Her king had planned all of this, she realized. _Was there really any choice?_ She stalked over to his desk and leaned over slightly, one hand bracing herself against the wood, assuming the position with embarrassing familiarity. When he made no move to dismiss his men, her hand froze on the fabric of her gown.

“Call them off, please,” she requested, cheeks burning.

To her relief he did so, seemingly satisfied with her docility. Stannis Baratheon would never admit it, but he was a possessive man, uninterested in flaunting his priestess for all men to see. Their little _dispute_ over Jon Snow had convinced her of that. The corners of her lips quirked at the recollection of him on his knees before her, face buried between her thighs, hands clutching her skin as if she were a goddess. His submission was always of cherished memory in her mind, but at present, Melisandre was the one dutifully exposing herself. They were alone again, and he'd begun pacing the room with great restraint.

“You can start by apologizing for your behavior,” he informed her.

“I told you, I haven’t—”

“I meant just now, impudent girl. You know the rules.”

She scowled again, knowing the condescending words were meant to annoy her. Melisandre was anything but a girl, and he knew that well, but to treat her as such was another form of degredation. “I apologize for my disrespectful conduct, my disobedience. And I suppose I failed to address you properly, _your Grace_." She drawled the words out. "Have you imagined some other insolence, or is that all?”

Stannis drummed his fingers against the table, frowning at her acidic tone. “You are quite insufferable, you know that? I had not planned to punish you today. If only you'd followed my instruction, you might have spared yourself this humiliation.” He lifted an eyebrow at her, but she only rolled her eyes and moved her gaze to the fire. “No matter. How shall I discipline you for these offenses?”

“However you’d like,” she snapped.

He contemplated, then tapped the table decisively. “My soldiers have fashioned an impressive device. They thought it a joke, but as it turns out, I should have use for such a thing.” He picked up a smooth, slender piece of wood. “A proper rod, don’t you think?” After a moment she realized that he expected an answer.

“As your Grace says,” she said warily.

“I would offer you my belt, but you are perhaps too well-acquainted.” He walked slowly to where she was bent over his desk, running his fingers over the switch. “Shall five lashes be sufficient?”

“Quite sufficient, your Grace.”

“Rather merciful,” he pointed out.  _Says he who is without mercy._  “In any case, you will count each one this time.” Without further warning he brought the rod against her upper thighs. She gasped slightly, unprepared for the pain of such an innocent looking instrument. _And the pleasure,_ her body sang, but she chastised herself for such wicked cravings. 

“One,” she grit out. The next two lashes were no less painful, and she tensed her body against the desk each time the switch cut through the air. There would be bruises, without a doubt, and ugly welts. 

"Let my men hear you this time,” he ordered on the fourth. But Melisandre was determined not to give in, counting the last two lashes with a steady voice. He sighed. “Shall I beat you until you scream, then?”

She flinched at the suggestion; her bottom and thighs were already decorated with stripes of red. “You can try,” she challenged, gripping his desk in resolve. _Oh, please try…_ “But you’ll not have my screams.”

“Very well,” Stannis muttered. He tossed the switch onto the desk next to her, tearing her skirts up higher, until her bodice was ripped and her back exposed. She cried out in annoyance at the destruction of her gown, but he insisted, “You leave me no choice.”

She saw his hand in front of her then, removing a bloody red candle from its candlestick. Her heart quickened at the sight of the fire. “No,” she murmured. _Yes, yes, do it, hurt me!_

He held the candle high above her form at first, letting the wax cool as it fell to the smooth skin of her bottom. She made a small noise, but her hips wriggled only in pleasure. The second drop of wax burned pleasantly as well, and Melisandre sighed in contentment. This would be easier than she expected, especially with her tolerance of the flames.

“Come now,” he derided, “they want to hear you, kitten.”

She shot him a rebellious look over her shoulder, meeting his gaze even as her skin burned. _Drip. Drip_. “Oh…” Her eyes finally fluttered shut. The wax was falling faster upon her skin, its heat stronger.

“Submit,” he demanded, bringing the candle even closer to her. She shivered as the winter air made contact with cooling wax on her skin. Even the unnatural heat of her body couldn't help it. 

“No,” she breathed. She felt the candle at her back then, nearly searing her skin with the dance of its ecstatic flame, and her heart skipped a beat. When the wax fell again, she finally cried out. It traced a burning trail down her back before cooling upon the curve of her bottom.

Stannis tsked in disapproval. “If you intend on remaining this stubborn, better to flatten your back, lest you become a dripping mess.”

She glared ahead but reluctantly dropped her elbows to the desk. The next drop of wax was the most painful yet, pooling in the dip at the small of her back. She moaned helplessly, thighs rubbing together in arousal. “Better,” he observed. “But I want to hear you scream.” A steady stream of crimson rained upon her skin, and she did just that, crying out as her body burned with pleasure and pain. Her arms were trembling with her weight. She couldn't take much more, and they both knew it. 

" _Louder_.” When the candle tipped again she finally obeyed, burying her face against shaking arms as the torture continued. Without a doubt the guards heard her screams now. Satisfied, he withdrew the candle from her splattered skin, watching her chest heave with longing and exertion. “Good, my pet, though I am loathe to end our game so soon. I know how you love your fires.”

Melisandre managed to shake her head. “No, please, it is insufferable!"

“Insufferable?" He snorted. "Is that why you're leaking like a sieve?”

Her skin flushed in shame. “I don't know why I…" _How could she explain it?_  There was no point; he already thought her depraved. "Sire, please...”

“You are much quicker to break this time,” he said wryly, “I didn’t even need to tie you up.” She said nothing, only panted and screwed her eyes shut. He was looking for more defiance, an excuse to continue punishing her, but she would not provide him one. “Lower on the desk,” Stannis commanded abruptly. She had no choice but to lay her chest flush against the surface, cheek pressed flat onto the parchment there, but she was at least grateful for the chance to relieve her arms. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of her attempting to steady her breathing.  _And tame her arousal._

“Now we may address the reason I called you here in the first place.” She had nearly forgotten, and wanted to shriek in frustration, but wisely held back her protestations. “Tell me what you are,” he ordered.

Her response was reflexive. “I am your pet, Sire.”  _Is that what he wants to hear?_

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “And out there?”

It took her a moment to register his question. She chose her words carefully. “A servant of R'hllor. Your advisor.”

“And what else, in regard to me?”

She hesitated, sensing a trap. His finger traced a stream of dried wax on her back, causing her to shudder. “You see, kitten, I have heard much objection to your presence in my court over the years. Surely you can recall; Ser Davos was among them. Yet I have trusted in your counsel, and your methods, no matter how unconventional." She squirmed. "Fear not," he assured her. "It is not those attacks on your character that concern me. Rather those claims that you may have an…unnecessary influence over me. A power, if you will.”

_Ah._ Her lips pursed. “I would never assume such privileges...”

“For your own sake I should hope not. But others have. Some even say that I am ‘under your spell.’”

“That’s not true,” Melisandre insisted crossly.  _Not entirely, at least..._

“Quiet! I know that. But surely you see my dilemma. I cannot win over a kingdom if my own army says such things. A king who is controlled by his priestess is a rather fickle ruler, wouldn’t you agree? I must end these rumors once and for all.”

She shifted again under the caress of his fingers, but noted that his other hand was suspiciously absent. “Will you speak with your soldiers, Sire?” Before she could gather what he was doing, he moved his hand from her back to her neck. A slight alarm raced through her. Stannis only held her in such a position when he didn’t want her to see him.

“That would not be effective.” She wondered if he was going to take her, as his own breath had become oddly hitched. She secretly hoped he would force her there against the desk, despite feeling immensely aggravated with the whole situation. Her thighs had become uncomfortably damp from their game with the candle; her pride stung with the realization, but she needed release, and she would beg for it, if need be. _Alas_. “If you are desperate enough to deny a rumor,” he was lecturing, “it is probably true. No. I must _show_ them, lead by example. Then the truth will spread throughout my camp and cover the lies.” A sweet, potent sense of fear settled deep in her belly.

Her voice was wary. “What will you…show them, your Grace?” There were strange noises behind her, but she had no way to tell what they were, as she was held firmly down against his desk. He did not answer for a long moment, but when he spoke again, his voice was strained.

“You are my advisor, and I respect your role as such, but you are also my subject, same as anyone else.”

“Of course, your Grace…”

“They must see that as well.”

She was growing impatient, eager for his attentions again. “What would you have me do? Kiss your boots in the snow?” she mocked.

His fingers slipped around her neck to grip her jaw. “Careful, pet.”

At this warning, she sighed unhappily. “Are you going to take me or not?”

His tone was half amused, half aroused. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Yes?”

“Yes, your Grace, please take me, fuck me against your desk like a common whore.” She pushed back against him. “Is that good enough for you, or must I plead more?

“No need.” She gave a sigh of relief, bracing herself for his assault.

But it never came. Only that odd noise again, growing more insistent.

“You begged nicely enough,” he hissed, “but you’ll not get what you want. Not tonight.” She forced her puzzled gaze as far back as she could, and was shocked at the realization that he'd been stroking himself all this time.

“What are you—"

His hand forced her head back down, depriving her of such a startling sight. “Making a point,” he grit his teeth.

Before she could bolt, kick him, scream with fury, he was tightening his hold on her and groaning. She felt something hot and damp upon her bottom as he spilled himself over her abused skin. Melisandre whimpered in protest, her own desire left entirely unsatisfied. Other than her neck, he still hadn't touched her, only used her to empty himself upon. She listened for several moments as his breathing finally caught and then evened out.  _Treated like a common whore after all_ , she thought, though not in the way she'd hoped. It was maddening…and mortifying. He was still gripping the desk harshly with one hand, but it didn't take long for him to compose himself. She did not move as he shifted away from her and finished adjusting himself, though she could feel him considering her debauched figure. "If only you could see, kitten, what a pretty sight you make..." She was seething. How she detested the dark satisfaction in his voice! “This will do,” he murmured after another moment. Then he smacked her aching bottom and strode out of his rooms without another word.

The candle beckoned her gaze, and she stared into it dazedly, quite uncomprehending of the events that had just occurred. After several moments she huffed and began to straighten up, feeling more cross that she'd been denied pleasure than anything else. Just then, the two guards ambled into the room, and all three froze in place. The priestess followed their incredulous eyes up her bare legs, reddened thighs, the crimson wax decorating her smooth bottom and back. But their gazes lingered on the palest stains scattered across her skin—stains entirely familiar to a man. They'd seen her braced against the desk before, had heard her scream and beg from outside, yes, but this was something else entirely. One of the men finally spoke up, clearing his throat. “Pardon, my lady…" His voice was guttural and brash, but she heard the laughter in his voice. "The king commands we escort you back to your chambers."

The other guard grinned slightly. "Perhaps a cloak is in order.” 

Understanding dawned upon Melisandre’s face, and instead of moving to make herself decent, she quaked, overcome with laughter, cheek still pressed into his desk like a harlot.

The smirking men were already shifting and looking at each other, and she knew this story would spread like wildfire.

The next day Melisandre emerged from the Castle to confirm her suspicions. The men usually stared at her, as she was one of the few women at the Wall, and quite alluring as it was, but today was far worse. Soldiers were muttering and jeering as she walked by, and for a painful moment she feared she would be hassled like a whore in Flea Bottom. Alas her king was just ahead tending to his horse, and she knew that no matter what absurd humiliation he'd subjected her to, he would never allow her to be disrespected or harmed. _Not by other men, at least._ She was still his priestess, after all. His red shadow. 

"My lady," he greeted her as if nothing had occurred. 

"Your Grace."

"My men and I are surveying the road west, toward the Nightfort. Do you wish to accompany us?"

Melisandre met his eyes calmly, knowing she still had to play his game with conviction. For his soldiers' sake, at least. "If I may."

He nodded and walked around his horse to stand in front of her. "Are you able to ride?" She tilted her head, and he continued bluntly, "You're limping." 

_Bastard._ "I am walking quite fine, your Grace."

Stannis narrowed his eyes slowly. Then, to her shock, he dropped his glove to the ground and lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

Soldiers were watching, she knew, even brothers of the Night's Watch. That was the whole point. She also knew she had no choice. What little was left of her pride shattered as she leaned over to pick up the glove. Before she could reach it, however, her sore backside smarted, knocking her to her knees in the snow. The world seemed quite still around them, but she realized that was because she was the focus of attention. Her trembling hand offered his glove back up to him, but he made no move, enjoying her indignity a moment longer. "I _should_ make you kiss my boots, for lying to me," he said, voice so low she could barely hear. She met his eyes and silently pleaded with him to spare such a thing. He finally took the glove from her outstretched hand, and she bowed her head in relief. "You're not walking fine. I believe your current position betrays that fact, my lady."

Her cheeks burned so hot she thought she would die of shame. It was true, she was in a great deal of pain, thighs and bottom bruised as she had predicted. "I am justly humbled," she suggested, her tone like ice. 

The corner of his mouth turned up, but he repressed it. "So it would seem. I shall examine this...affliction before we depart." With that he turned on his heel toward the Castle. _Apparently that had been an order._ Melisandre rose to her feet as gracefully as possible, given the circumstances, and followed meekly behind him.

"Examine?" she dared to ask after a minute of walking, ignoring the leering men that they passed.

"Fear not, my lady," he muttered, "they've seen all they need to see. There will be no more 'demonstrations.'" 

She hurried along with relief, attempting to keep up with her king's long strides. "Then what, Sire?"

He did not answer. They'd already reached his rooms. Thankfully, there were different guards stationed than the previous day. 

Once they were alone inside, he finally spoke. "I'll not have my priestess in pain the entire ride." He tore off his gloves with determination. "Lie on the bed."

When they departed some hours later, she still winced at the pain of travel. It couldn't be helped. Even more, her pride was thoroughly wounded by the humiliation of her ordeal. Yet even with eyes downcast, there was a contented warmth in her lower body—her king's recent and ardent attentions between her thighs had seen to that. He'd tried to quiet her moans, murmuring against her hip how insufferable she was, but she wanted his men to hear her pleasure as they had heard her pain.  _Let them know._

Melisandre rode next to him now, and she decided her position in his court was tolerable _._ As she glanced over at her king, a million ideas for retribution filled her head. _Yes, most tolerable,_  she smiled. _Even if she was not._


	4. Invaluable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Stannis reluctantly grows into his role, Melisandre must embrace hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts** : "Stannis is desperately aroused and touches himself to get relief...Mel catches him"/"Really long-foreplay"/orgasm control/possessive Stannis (what else is new ???)
> 
> xx

[ ](http://insuh.tumblr.com)

* * *

 King Stannis tapped his foot incessantly. He was barely able to focus on the Bastard of Winterfell and his tedious speech. _Get to the point already,_ he thought, his mind wandering to someone else _._ The boy looked nothing like his priestess, yet he saw only her red figure before him, just as she had been that morning when they’d passed each other on the Castle steps. She was still cross with him for the humiliation he’d subjected her to the other day—he could tell by the accusatory glare she’d sneaked at him—but she seemed properly subdued. _For now._

In any case, he wasn’t terribly averse to giving her another lesson.

“I plan to transfer as many allies from Hardhome as I can, using your Grace’s ships,” Jon was saying, but his Grace’s mind was elsewhere.

“Yes,” Stannis interrupted.

Jon looked up from the map in surprise. “I haven’t told you my plans for after the negotiations.”

“No need. You’re Commander of this Wall, by rights, it’s your decision.”

The younger man was unable to speak for a stunned moment. “Then—you’re in favor of the idea?”

“No,” the king said bluntly. “But you may have the ships you’ve requested.” His mind drifted back to more delicate problems, one _problem_ in particular. " _My king,"_ her melodious voice echoed in his head, her laugh reaching his ears from somewhere within Castle Black. _Toying with another man even now,_ he guessed dryly. _Damn._ He ached just thinking about her.

But Jon Snow was oblivious to the king’s desperate state. “Your Grace, you won’t be sorry,“ he insisted.

“I won’t be sorry? I’m sorry already.”

The boy stood to bow slightly. “I am exceedingly grateful—“

“Yes, yes,” Stannis interrupted again. “We’ll speak more of the details tomorrow.” Lord Snow seemed to grasp the dismissal, rolling up his maps with satisfaction and nodding to the king. The moment the chamber door was closed again, Stannis ran a hand over his face, keeping his eyes buried against his palm. _I need sleep,_ he thought. The sounds of the fire quickly lulled him into an unguarded state, and his mind wandered unwillingly back to _her,_ bent over this very desk, repeating her words from the other day… _yes, your Grace, please take me, fuck me like a common whore…_ He jerked out of his brief repose, blinking once, twice to clear his depraved thoughts. It was then that he noticed that his problem had worsened; one glance down at his lap confirmed that.

“How bloody convenient,” he announced to the empty room. He raked a hand down his face again in an attempt to pull himself together. There was little time for this. He needed to return to his endless list of preparations for the march to Winterfell, and now this new agreement—lending his ships to Snow. But to do so, he needed to relieve himself of this problem, no matter how much he hated doing the duty.

_If I could just…_ He brought one hand grudgingly down, sighing at the initial respite of the vile deed. _Do it quickly_ , his mind hissed, and his hand obeyed. He wasn’t worried about being interrupted. His guards knew better than to assume he would grant any more audiences at this hour.

A minute passed. Even the sounds of it repulsed the king _._ He gripped the edge of the desk with his free hand, gritting his teeth in irritation. It was taking too long. He needed to think of something, anything to…

_The red woman was kneeling face-down before him, bound and writhing on the bed, begging him to—_

The memory struck him like a physical blow, and he lurched forward, hand moving more rapidly. It had been the first time he’d agreed to her twisted games, the first time she’d learned the sting of his belt, the first time he’d conquered her fiery spirit… His eyes fell closed, and he allowed himself to ignore the sounds of his own sin, even the Castle around him.

In retrospect _that_ was a mistake. He should have remembered that there was one person who had free reign of his rooms, without warning of entrance. For the second he began groaning into his hand, his chamber door was wrenched open, and the red plague herself breezed into the room. She halted at the sight of the king behind his desk, and he froze in mortification, attempting to pull his hand discreetly away and adjust his clothing. “My lady—I was just—” But it was too late. She had seen.

“I am familiar with the act, my king,” she said wryly. Whether she referred to pleasuring men in such a way, or pleasuring herself in general, he did not know. _Both, most likely._

“You should have knocked.” They both knew such a reprimand was useless. He cleared his throat anxiously, attempting to change the subject. “Is there something you need, woman?”

Melisandre’s smirk widened, and she held up a small piece of parchment. “There are supplies I require before winter hits us, but…” She slipped the paper somewhere into the folds of her dress. _Does she hide her prey in there, too?_ “I don’t believe that’s the most pressing question.” He fidgeted as she walked calmly between the edge of his desk and his seated form. “Is there something _you_ need?” When he did not answer, her hand glided over his knee. “Tell me what I might help you with,” she purred.

“Nothing,” he snapped, face flushing. Now he was the one humiliated, but he had no one to blame but himself for it.

To his terror Melisandre sank gracefully to her knees before his chair, her hands finding their way to his _problem_. “Nothing?” she teased. “A rather large ‘nothing,’ and stiffer than a plank of wood, besides—“

“Were you raised in a tavern?”

"A temple, my king." She leaned up to kiss the grimace off his face. “Why are you so eager to do this yourself, twice now in my presence, yet you won’t allow your dearest advisor to help you?”

“I’m _not_ eager to do it,” he hissed. “It is vulgar.” But that did not stop her hands from stroking him with determination.

“A bold claim, for a man who spent himself over my body the other day…”

“I didn’t enjoy doing that, my lady,” his voice was becoming strained at the insistence of her hands between his thighs. “It was necessary to—“ he broke off in a groan when her nails raked lightly up his cock. _I’ve deceived myself, thinking I’ve disciplined her one bit. She’s wilder than a pair of Lannisters._

“Spare me,” she was cooing up at him. “You most certainly enjoyed it, your Grace. Tell me, is that what got you into this state now?”

He did not answer at first, clenching his jaw against his renewed arousal. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Tell me,” she whispered, coaxing his knees apart so she might have better access. “Tell me what I looked like in your mind, what you did to me…”

_There are worse things,_ he decided with a sigh. _Maybe she’ll be so offended that she’ll leave me in peace._ “I want to break you again,” he said bluntly. He saw her eyebrows lift, but not in disgust.

“My body?”

“Your spirit.”

Melisandre flashed a brilliant smile at him. “Ah, that is far more difficult.” _Insufferable_ _vixen._

“I know it,” the king grit out. “But not impossible. I’ve done it before.”

The priestess abruptly ceased her ministrations, and Stannis cursed. _Have I finally descended into the eighth hell?_

“You’re surely mistaken, my king.” She leaned up so her face was close to his. “You’ve tried to subdue me, several times now, but I’m still queen of this game.” Stannis narrowed his eyes.

“Now you are the mistaken one,” he gripped her wrists away from his groin, moving to retie his breeches. It proved quite difficult, as he was still painfully hard.

She watched him, amused yet intrigued by his sudden resolve. “How?”

“You have your own weakness,” he said simply.

Her lips curled up. “My fires?”

“No,” he shook his head. “You enjoy pain, and you have rather perverse tastes, but that’s not your flaw.”

“Then what?”

“You’re a slave to those desires. Though you detest it—losing control, just as much as I.”

She made a noise of scorn. “ _I_ don’t grind my teeth through climax.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he leaned forward, brushing the jape aside. His gaze was dark. “No matter what you pretend, you hate when you don’t get your way. You’ll beg me to hurt you, but only by _your_ rules. Go on, think of all the times I’ve turned the game on you, how helpless you felt then, yet how great your pleasure. Lie to yourself if you must. But you’re only a woman. You hate the power I hold over you. You hate it, and still you’re addicted to it, to the ecstasy it brings. ”

“You have no power over me, aside from the physical,” she argued, brow furrowing.

Stannis could tell he’d struck the right nerve. He allowed her to see his teeth when he smiled, cherishing her alarm. “I barely touched you the other day. A bit of candle wax, and you became as meek as a serving maid. Do you need another _demonstration_?”

She scowled, pulling away. “Don’t treat me like a child. The fact remains. You did not _break_ me, nor will you ever.”

“Then you won’t mind if I bring my men in here, while you’re on your knees?” Melisandre finally shot to her feet, eyes burning with annoyance. “I thought not,” he sneered. “I haven’t taken you in weeks. You’re like a cat in heat, but too haughty to admit it, so you just try to lure me into your bed.”

“I could say the same for you, given what I just walked into,” she retorted, nodding toward his arousal. “I’d help you, but not unless you acknowledge my own authority.”

“You have none.”

“You sang a different song bound to my bed.” He did not take the bait, so she changed her strategy with a condescending sigh. “Don’t fool yourself, Stannis. Seduction is not a skill you’ve grasped.”

_I will break her utterly,_ he decided, blood pounding in his ears. He stood to tower over her. “A wager, then.” Her eyes lit up in surprise. “If I can seduce you, bend you to my will, I win the game, once and for all. I fail, you win your claim of dominance.”

She feigned hesitation, but he could tell she was all too eager. “Dominance? Can I tie you up?”

“The winner may restrain the other,” he agreed. “Among other things. The defeated individual submits to absolute control thenceforth. Ownership, even.”

Her smile was confident. “A simply invaluable prize. I’ll have you on a leash, my king.”

_Quite the reverse, my pet._

* * *

He tilted his head as she strolled into his chamber. She’d let her hair down, and it cascaded down her back like flames.

“My king,” she purred. _So that’s her strategy, then—to tempt me into impatience. How predictable._ “How will you do it this time?” she asked him likewise. “What’s your great plan for ‘bending me to your will?’” Her eyes danced with mockery even as she floated toward the fire. “Perhaps you’ll beat me, hold me down, tie me up…”

“No, as you said, I’ll not win this game by unfair physical force. I would only ask you lie on the bed, my lady.”

Melisandre seemed slightly taken aback by the directness of his approach, but she obliged the request, her gown pooling around her like blood. “And now…?”

Stannis wasted no time in showing her, drawing her skirts up and kissing her soundly between the legs. “Oh,” she said, pleasantly surprised. He was by no means a skillful lover, as she’d pointed out, but he had learned what she liked in this particular activity. He efficiently hooked her legs over his shoulders, and she was moaning and pushing her hips against his mouth within minutes. At the feel of his tongue upon her clit, she clutched at the bedding, her voice a delighted hiss. He pulled back when she was dancing around the edge of her pleasure. “What—" she glared down at him, panting slightly. “Why’d you stop?”

He brought his finger to her dripping heat, keeping her suspended in her desperate state. “Submit to me, and you’ll have your release.”

Melisandre sighed, her head falling against the bed in frustration. “You’ll lose your own patience before _that_ happens, my king. You’re still ready to burst from earlier.”

“I’ll wait all night if need be,” he argued. “But you _will_ give your submission to me, and it’ll be of your own yielding.”

She rolled her eyes but squirmed against his unrelenting strokes between her thighs. “Why don’t you just end this stupid bet and fuck me—“

“Watch your mouth,” he said, even as his finger slipped inside her.

“Why?” she moaned, arching her back into his attentions.

“Such vulgarities are not becoming on your lips, kitten.”

Melisandre gasped as he pushed another finger into her. “Don’t call me that,” she said distractedly.

“You chose the name for yourself, if you’ll recall.” She scowled, but her face was twisted more in pleasure than genuine anger.

“It was that or ‘wench,’ and you kept thrashing me,” she muttered. “What was I supposed to do?” A third finger slipped inside her with relative ease. “Ah,” she gasped.

“Well, well, you _are_ a cat in heat,” he mocked, watching her eyes shut against the building pressure in her lower body. He curled his fingers upward.

“Don’t,” she shuddered. For a moment he feared he had hurt her.

“Are you asking me to stop?”

“No,” she confessed, short of breath. “I meant, don’t say those things…”

He bent his head back to her most intimate place, kissing her softy. The priestess lifted her bottom off the bed in urgent longing. “Shall I continue, then?” he murmured against her thigh.

“Yes.”

“You know how to ask properly.”

Melisandre exhaled forcefully, turning her head to one side. “This does not constitute my submission,” she declared.

“As you say.” His fingers were still inside her, but he refused to move them until she begged.

“Please continue, your Grace…” He did so, and she cried out at the intensity of the sensation, focusing only on his long fingers moving within her. Soon she was at the brink of climax again, panting and bucking against his hand.

_I have her now_ , he thought. “Submit.”

“No,” she moaned, though she was almost frantic with desire. _Foolish, willful thing_. Again, he ceased his attentions abruptly, but she was so desperate that she rolled her hips and pushed against his fingers, attempting to create her own friction.

He nearly laughed. “Such depravity, pet. Only submit, and deliver yourself from this torment.”

“I won’t—“ Melisandre groaned as he withdrew his fingers almost completely, then thrust them inside her again. “ _Ah_ …” She was a sight to behold, the most lovely, naughty image he’d ever seen, stretched around his fingers indecently. He was so hard he feared he might lose control as she’d predicted. It had been far too long since he’d been inside her.

“Submit,” he demanded again, barely able to repress his own desire. She only bit her lip, screwing her eyes shut. _Onto the next strategy, then._ He swiftly pulled his fingers away, released himself from the confines of his clothing, and teased her entrance with something much larger. She moaned in relief. _She still doesn’t understand,_ he thought, pushing inside her. “You’ll know pleasure only if you yield to me.”

“You don’t have the endurance,” she gasped against his thrusts. “You’ll break before I do…”

“Perhaps,” his movements became rougher. “But if I do, wench, you’ll never have your precious release.” She sprang forward to shove against his chest, but he caught her wrists and pushed her back down. “I thought we decided on no physical force,” he admonished. She glowered and began thrusting against him instead, desperately trying to reach her pleasure before he did. “Look at you,” he taunted, “what did I say? You’re a slave to your lust.” She turned her head away from him. “You _still_ hold onto your pride? Fine. Shall I return you to your chambers with no reward but the evidence of my pleasure upon your body again? Perhaps your face this time?”

Melisandre seemed horrified by the suggestion, enough so that her resolve broke slightly. “No…”

“Then you had best yield,” he advised, straining toward his own release. He watched as her eyes fell closed again. She was at war with herself, even as she tightened her legs about his waist. “Submission won’t be so terrible,” he pointed out. “If you want to be hurt, I’ll whip you, if it’s pleasure you want, I’ll pleasure you. But I will have your surrender, Melisandre.”

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their hitched breathing as she fought against her baser instincts. “There’s no shame in it,” he said more gently, and she looked at him, stunned. Stannis Baratheon, of all people, shrugged slightly. “Your desires are wicked, my pet, but they are not wrong.”

For a moment he feared that she might actually cry. “Fine,” she whispered, and a wave of relief washed over him. _Has the hellcat been tamed?_

“Say it.”

“I submit…”

He gripped her hips harder. “To my will?”

“Yes,” she hissed when he rocked against her. “Yes, I submit to your will...”

“Fully?” He couldn’t hold back a groan from his own voice. “You’ll do as I say from now on, respectful of my rules and punishments, without exception?” The full implications of submission seemed to dawn upon her then, and she hesitated. “Obedience,” he vowed, “brings pleasure.” She was so close to that prize, then, that it was enough.

“I’ll be obedient, I swear it…” Her promise was rewarded with a firm caress between her thighs.

"You may have your release."

“Thank you, your Grace,” she gasped, thrusting against his fingers and hips once more. _Yes, she’s mine, entirely mine…_ There was little time for him to be triumphant, however, or for her to be regretful, as they were tumbling together, liberated, into an indescribable ecstasy. “Stannis!” she cried out and arched against him, and that was his undoing as well.

After, he fell upon the bed with her, and neither spoke for a long time. Melisandre finally shifted languidly, regarding him with a wary eye. “May I speak?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yes, kitten.”

She sealed her fate with a satiated sigh. “Can we do that again?”

“Tomorrow. As you said, I don’t have the endurance.” He saw her smirk before she burrowed into his side. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our wager,” he warned, “you’ll be thoroughly secured to the bedpost.” She bit his neck in retaliation. “And that’s five blows across my lap,” he said dryly.

His priestess nuzzled his collarbone, annoyed at the price of such a small transgression. “That seems unfair.”

“Another five for defiance. Is that more agreeable to you?” She made a noise of displeasure, but soothed the stinging skin of his neck with a kiss anyway.

“Your will is always agreeable to me, Sire.”

How long had he waited to hear those words?  _Even if she mocks me. Wicked thing_.

He glanced down at her with a crooked smile.

_An invaluable prize, indeed._


	5. Inconceivable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis Baratheon simply accepts the fact that, for the second time, he is bound at the mercy of his priestess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts:** Stannis actually getting naked for sex / more bathtub shenanigans / Mel + some form of anal 
> 
> xx

[ _ _ ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fvmpselene.deviantart.com%2F&t=ODVlMDFmZDI2YTFiMzgyZmY1MWQ3NWRjYTJhZTM0MGZhZjRlOGRlYyxzbG96QmRIaQ%3D%3D)

* * *

_Did she make a noise just now?_

His steel blue eyes snapped to her form curled by the fire. Yes, he had heard something, and it was not just his paranoia this evening. That was when he _saw_ it—her deft fingers moving fervently, though hidden beneath a fine layer of silk.

_Is she—_

Hells below. She was. 

How utterly inconceivable. Even she had never stooped so low. His priestess froze, feeling his gaze upon her, and her hand snuck back from where it had been dancing beneath her scarlet robe. For a moment, she held his gaze boldly. Then she looked back to the fire. 

Stannis laid his work down with a sigh. "My lady, if you will," he gestured in front of him. Any other might have been apprehensive, daring such obscenity in his rooms. Not she. His rough voice only sent delightful shivers down her spine. His priestess rose gracefully, taking her time to his desk.

"Yes, my king?" 

"Are you truly so depraved? To act like the lowest harlot in my presence?” 

"I do not understand this accusation." 

Oh, she knew the game. She had initiated it, after all. 

Stannis rose to face her, and though she was of impressive height, he still towered over her. “I think you do,” he said tightly. She tried to turn away, but he reached across the desk to catch her chin in his iron grip. The scrutiny lasted several agonizing moments, his eyes narrowing down at her parted lips. Her chest was rising and falling like a rapid, crimson wave. 

"Shameless," he confirmed. And he had only himself to blame for being lax in her discipline.

The king sighed again. "Over the desk." Melisandre bent over without complaint, never breaking his gaze as she slowly lowered herself onto the wood. Her breath hitched as he made his way behind her, his gloves whispering against her heated skin.

"Well, well..." he mused, running a finger between her damp thighs. She borrowed a page from his book and grit her teeth so as not to moan aloud. "So this is why you haven't been sitting still all day?" Melisandre groaned as he brought his hand down hard against her thigh. "I should not have bothered asking. You're even dressed like a whore." Never mind that it was late evening and she'd been preparing for a bath. She glared as he yanked her into a standing position to face him. "You realize you will be punished for this," he said flatly. 

"For what, exactly, Sire?" 

Stannis looked at her sharply. "For this display of indecency, which caused me distraction." 

"Have I distracted you so, your Grace…?" Melisandre glanced downward to see the answer. “Ah,” she said, smirking openly at him. A harsh tug of fiery hair at the base of her neck, and she obediently dropped the smile. Still, her entire body grew fevered with excitement. He was going to use her so wonderfully.

"You are hopeless," he muttered, roughly catching her pale hands before they could dive beneath his breeches. "And you _will_ remedy that. Now undress."

"As you command," she sang. The king watched as she shed her robe, the red silk sliding from her body like a second skin. Melisandre was practically shivering in anticipation by the time strong hands pushed her back over his desk. "I could not help myself, Sire...I need you inside me." The words sent a violent thrill through him, and she enticed him against the cold wood, rubbing her pale thighs together as they became even more drenched with arousal, beckoning him to—  

_No._   He would not be so lenient this time. Still, her pale bottom called his attention, and an idea came to mind, one that he had never even dared entertain. It was base and wicked and unclean.

_But...perhaps…_

Stannis considered the infamous crimson candle on his desk, then seized it with reckless determination. He watched recognition pass over her face—it had been used on her twice before. "You desire something inside that insatiable body of yours?" he prompted. She lifted an eyebrow as he reached between her thighs, but wisely said nothing. "Trust me," he murmured. 

Her arousal was used to coat the candle, but he did not line it up where she had anticipated, instead dragging it higher to that forbidden entrance. Her eyebrows knit together. “What are you— ”

"You leave me no choice."

Before she could register his intent, the candle was being forced inside the tight space. Melisandre positively squealed. “Don't you dare!“ But it was too late. She thrashed against the intrusion and scratched at the surface of the desk. Her resistance ceased when he pushed on the very base of the candle. " _Oh_." _  
_

"This will do,” he decided. He allowed her no time to catch her breath before beginning to pace behind her. She could only lie there, gasping through the pain and the degradation and the aching, white-hot desire. In truth he knew she was excited that he'd thought up such a depraved sin. _Not for long._ “You still need to be punished, kitten."

"I object," she panted, even as she lay exposed and humiliated upon his desk.

The king stopped pacing. “You object?” he repeated, amusement lacing his disbelief. 

Melisandre tilted her head defiantly. “Yes, your Grace. I— " She clenched her eyes against the pressure inside her. "I am forbidden release without your approval. This we have agreed upon. But I have the right to touch myself.”

His eyes narrowed slowly. “Who decides that? Who holds control?”

Melisandre smirked. "You make the rules," she said evasively. 

"I _have control_ ," he corrected coldly. Her amusement melted into regret as he drew the candle from her bottom, only to thrust it back in. She shrieked and tried to break from his grasp, but he held her tight. 

“Make no mistake,” he grit out, continuing his efforts without mercy. “Every inch of your body belongs to me. You will not seek any pleasure without my permission.” The candle was pushed inside her a final time, and she cried out, slumping against the desk in submission. He sighed. "Do you understand? You must give full control to me. Trust that I know what is best for you." His fingers slipped forward to find her throbbing, soaking lust. _Gods._  “I should not bother…as always, it seems you enjoyed that." Melisandre flushed crimson but said nothing in defense. "You are a whore to be this way,” he pointed out. 

"No,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath. Stannis knocked her legs wider apart with the heel of his boot.

“No?”

“No _Sire_ ,” she snapped. Her trembling bottom received another thrust of the candle, prompting her to howl against the desk.

“You're right, you are not a whore,” he said pleasantly. His free hand tangled into her red hair, yanking without a hint of mercy. “You are _my_ whore. Say it.”

She jerked her head defiantly, though she was clearly desperate for relief. She moaned and squirmed, wincing at the red candle still deep in her bottom. That fiery curtain of hair fell around her flushed face, streaming down her lithe back in disarray. He was unable to stop himself from drawing in a sharp breath. “Sire…” Her melodic voice snapped him out of his observation, and he straightened to feign composure. “Sire?” she repeated, the hint of a grin at her lips.

He glanced down at himself with a pained expression. "This is a problem," Stannis muttered.

Melisandre blinked, sensing her opportunity. "Allow me to remedy it," she said sweetly, and he was persuaded enough to pull the candle from her body and straighten her up. He swallowed as she turned and placed her fingers against his chest. Then he was herded like a sheep toward the bathtub. The backs of his knees bumped against the basin, but she continued to push at him.  

"In."

Stannis finally shook out of his stupor to restrain her arms. "Is this a jest?" Dry amusement tugged at his mouth as she stared expectantly up at him, eyes moving over him like a problem she needed to solve. Her gaze warned him not to challenge her game. 

"I am only remedying the problem I caused you, Sire." Melisandre combed her fingers back through the black roots of his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. A shiver passed through him at the sensation. She raised herself upon her bare toes. "This is how it feels, you know," she whispered against his mouth. The priestess's cheeks were colored now. "To have your body wrenched in anticipation. Uncertainty." 

Then she claimed his lips with hers. 

Stannis had the urge to throw her to the bed and thrash her mercilessly. Instead he gripped the edge of the bath and stilled himself.

_Let her play out her fantasy_ , he decided. He was still in charge.

Still, the slow dance of her mouth was excruciating. Hells, she had obeyed him in all of his sadistic demands; surely he had the control to win this simple game!  Melisandre moved her kisses under his rough jaw and down his throat. Her mouth burned at the wiry muscles of his shoulder, the sharp angles of his collar bone. 

"I love your scent," she confided against his skin. "Like parchment and salt and…" Her lips nipped at his ear. “And lemons,” she giggled.

It had never occurred to him that he smelled like anything at all. Despite the jape, it sounded like a compliment. More blood rushed to his arousal at the novelty of the experience. Stannis moved his hands to the back of her thighs, pulling her flush against his body.

"No, no," she scolded, taking his wrists in a firm grip and placing them back at his sides. "I'll tell you when you can touch me tonight."

Oh.

Melisandre's fingers went to the closure of his doublet and worked out the laces, letting the dark leather fall away from his chest. Her fingertips ran feather-light over his shoulders, the hollow at the center of his throat. Somehow, it was the most painful touch he had ever known. She lowered herself to work his breeches off in a similar torture, teeth raking against each inch of revealed skin, delighting at the noise he made when she nipped at his navel. The priestess followed suit with his hip— _gods._ He clenched his fists at his sides. Her mouth was moving across his narrow waist now, and he felt her working loose the rest of the clothing. Stannis grudgingly stepped out of the garment so she might toss it aside, baring himself completely to her.

"On with it," he snapped, his skin prickling with the humiliation of being exposed.

His panic only mounted, however, when graceful hands complied to undo her own robe. Pulling away the cord at her waist, she allowed the deep red fabric to ripple to the floor. Stannis was entranced by the sight of her, as he had been the first time he laid eyes upon her at Dragonstone.

"Into the bath," she commanded again. 

Stannis had never lowered to anyone's command before. Only her, and only that once. Now he was sinking into the bath like a scolded boy. A long hiss escaped his mouth. "This water is burning, woman..." She stepped into the water with a roll of her hips that would shame a trained courtesan.

"It is best that way," she informed him. "You will be there a while." But she herself did not sit. Instead, the priestess brought one of her pale feet to the edge of the bath beside him, displaying herself obscenely at eye level. "Now, serve your _whore_ ," she ordered from under an arched scarlet brow, daring him to defy her now.

_Inconceivable,_ he thought, but Melisandre's outrageous demand surged through his body, and somehow he was leaning forward to obey. He used his fingertips to part her, hoping that she would not deny his hands on her now, and began to consume her with urgent strokes of his tongue. She steadied herself with her hand at his shoulder, sounds of satisfaction on her lips as he found his stride. One of his hands absently coaxed her hips down. Perhaps he could tug her into his lap even while he pleasured her…

"Patience, my king," she admonished him. Even so, Melisandre lowered herself to straddle him, bare bottom brushing against the evidence of his lust. She splayed her fingers over his skin, sliding them through droplets of water on his forearms and elbows. Then she drew his wrists apart and laced her fingers together with his, pinning his hands against the sides of the tub. He chuckled at her little display of dominance.

"I told you I would bathe you, my king…" His hands twitched under her grip. They had grown very warm. "Now hold your position," she taunted, echoing his words from the other week.

Melisandre abruptly sat up astride him and began lathering her bathing oils in her hands, putting on an exaggerated display of it.  _What bloody—_ Stannis realized that his hands were still fixed in place even though hers were occupied. His crafty priestess had somehow secured them against the rails of the bath. 

_The maddening wench!_   He did not bother asking how, for there was never any answer to her sorcery. 

"Well done, kitten," he said dryly, attempting to pull free of the rope.

"Shh," she purred, busied with washing his arms. "Or I'll have that sharp tongue of yours held in check as well." All the same, a triumphant smile had curled her ruby lips. Melisandre bent her head again to prolong his torture. Her teeth pulled at his earlobe, her hands...her burning hands were everywhere. Lower and lower she washed, until her own body was positioned between his legs. She glanced at his restraints and—seemingly pleased with her handiwork—dipped her ruby lips half beneath the water, all pretense of washing gone.

_Hells!_

His hands strained against the bondage, hips arching up toward her. The lovely priestess who had him trapped in his own bath, _yes_ , she held control now as she slid her tongue up the entire length of him, stopping to look him in the eye. He was straining to maintain composure, and she knew it. Assured now of her victory, she gave a soft laugh at his desperation. His tormentor—surely he could call her that now _—_ slithered over him, her own body slick with oil and water and arousal.

"Melisandre," her name came as a warning on his lips. _Gods, what is she doing to me?_

"Do not worry," she sang, bringing her knees again over his hips. "I won't leave you wanting, as you do often in your cruelty."  

With no warning, Melisandre raised herself up on her knees and had him in her hand, guiding him toward her entrance. His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for her to claim him. He was obviously willing, humiliatingly so, but this was only the second time he was to be taken by someone and not the other way around. He was gaining an appreciation for the relative ease with which Melisandre had learned to accept his commands.

_Perhaps his painstaking efforts had not gone to waste, after all._

"Do you want it?" Poised now above him, she regarded him with scarlet eyes that reflected his desire.  

"Yes," he snapped, unsure why she was asking the obvious. 

"Beg me." 

Stannis saw her smile, her gaze exulting in the reversal she'd staged. What choice did he have? She was driving him mad.

"Please," he said, grinding his teeth. 

"I think you can do better…" She toyed her heat over the tip of him.

"Gods, woman, I’ll do anything!" Stannis's words startled even himself, but they earned her approval. 

She sank all the way to the hilt and ground her pelvis against him, sitting still for a long moment to feel him flex inside her. When she knew he could tolerate her inaction no longer, Melisandre began a slow rolling of her hips, sliding him exquisitely within her heat. Once she found her rhythm she placed her palm against his chest to steady herself and rode him with zealous intention, seeking her own pleasure with his body. He groaned and pushed beneath her as best he could, watching a frown grow upon her face. 

"This is not…" she murmured, then shook her head, taking him up in a savage kiss. After a few blissful moments entangled like this, she drew back from him, her brow still furrowed in puzzled frustration. Her hands slid absentmindedly to his wrists and flicked them out of the mire of the ropes. Stannis lifted an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised that she'd freed him. His hands settled at her slender waist, eager to make a proper effort of it. "I need—it is— " she broke off again.  _Ah._

"Tell me."

Her cheeks burned with the full revelation. "I need your permission…to finish my pleasure. And I want—you to— " 

"To?"

"Hold me down."

Stannis observed her in quiet self-satisfaction. "You've had your fun, and now you take a lesson from it." She glared, but he knew she was moderately subdued.  _Finally._ In all honesty, he would much rather give in to her requests. The image of her spread beneath him was one he rather enjoyed, and much less shameful than the current position. But he would not give in. It was his duty, after all, to make sacrifices for the sake of her discipline.

He remained where he was, thrusting up into his priestess without care. Water spilled over onto the grey stone beneath the tub, but his inhibitions were gone. "Go on, then," he said darkly. "Tell me what you've learned." 

"Ah,” Melisandre moaned, half-frustrated, half-relieved. "I should trust you in all things..." she grudgingly conceded. "And I should surrender myself...fully." The words sent a smug thrill through his veins.

"Not as incorrigible as before," he said proudly. Her face screwed into a scowl, but it was broken as he drove into her again. He tried to pace himself by closing his eyes. Looking at her perfect face was too much for him to bear.  _And part of the reason you've always taken her from behind_ , he admitted. _How else would you maintain control?_

"Perhaps..." She gasped out the plea in between thrusts. "Oh, oh—may I—have my release?" He only doubled his efforts, and Melisandre whimpered against the overwhelming stimulation. "Please..." Her cries began to grow more frantic as she came closer and closer to climax. "Sire, I am going to— "

"You may,” Stannis finally acquiesced, knowing his own release was just around the corner. Just then her body clenched unbearably around him. For once his red kitten said nothing, made no noise as she climaxed—only clung to him with arms and lips and thighs as he continued to claim her. He gripped her hips and groaned, and then all was silent.

After a minute resting within the cramped space, the king gathered her sated form tighter against his chest.  _Let us try again..._ "Who owns you?"

Her voice was a grumble against his neck. "You, Sire."

"And who, therefore, has control?"

"...Me." 

She braced herself for the sting of his hand against her damp skin, but it never came.

"Yes," he agreed dryly. Her victorious smile was buried against his skin. Stannis glanced at the floor beneath the bathtub, then down at their entangled bodies with a grimace. "You were right about another thing."

His priestess was still too dazed to lift her head from the crook of his neck. "Hmm?"

"We're leaving the bath more dirty than clean."


	6. Inebriated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would you like to explain what happened last night?"
> 
> Melisandre groaned, her usual grace scattered like the fiery strands of her hair. "Dornish wine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts:** hickeys | sweaty naked Stannis (thanks for this one) | fireplace | "praying" | Stannis giving Mel a gift | mild public indecency (cackling)
> 
> Happy holidays!  
> xx

[ ](http://histruequeen.tumblr.com/post/142305421364/each-night-he-walked-atop-the-wall-with-lady)

* * *

 Jon frowned at the struggling squire and his hefty stack of crates.

"What is this for?" he demanded.

Devan Seaworth was panting by now. "Good day, Lord Commander— " he stumbled, rearranging the load. "Firewood, provisions, clothing…the like. A week's supply for the King's Tower. I was tasked to bring it personally from the main keep." 

Jon leaned over the stair railing. "And what in gods' name is Stannis doing with all that?"

The lad tilted his head. "Surely you were informed. His Grace has requested complete privacy for the week." 

"He neglected to inform me," Jon said dryly. 

Devan slipped on a particularly icy step. "Apologies, Lord Snow. I am certain it was an oversight on his part."

_To be certain._ "Is he sufficiently annoyed with the world, to shut himself away so?" 

"Ah," the boy laughed nervously. "In a spiritual sort of way, I suppose. They are taking this time to focus on prayer." 

"They?" 

"The Lady Melisandre, of course."

Jon ran a hand over his eyes. "Aye," he chuckled, "I'm sure they are."

* * *

"You've had your fun. Now, it has been _days_. We are getting up."

The priestess sighed. "But it is so relaxing here, and so warm in front of your fire..."

"Here? On the floor?"

"Mhmm." 

Stannis seemed offended.  _Of course he did._

"What is the problem, Sire?"

He grimaced. "I am being used as a pillow on a dirty floor."

"We have this lovely fur rug beneath us." 

"But we are both— " His ears burned scarlet. 

"Nude, and slick with sweat?"

"Let me up."

"One more night," Melisandre announced. He did not argue, though he was stiff as a board beneath her, and in all the wrong ways. It was nothing she could not fix. She buried her ruby lips against his collarbone, allowing her thighs to slide along his own. 

"Don't, woman. I need a bath." She continued her languid ministrations. "Melisandre," he protested, "I smell like a goat."

Her teeth found his ear. "You smell like a man," she purred.

He groaned, attempting to disentangle his limbs from hers. Melisandre scolded him with something between a hiss and a _tsk_. "Are you hexing me?" he asked dryly. She scowled. "No," he said firmly, even as it turned to a pout.

"Fine," she huffed. "You are going to bathe and sulk at your lemon water?"

"That is the general idea, yes."

The priestess abruptly leaped off him, yanking the red robe about her glistening body. "Then I am off to find better amusement," she announced. Stannis lifted an eyebrow as she stalked to the door. He was well used to this game.

"With whom?" he drawled. 

Melisandre raked a hand through the tangled curtain of her copper hair. "The Lord Commander has a spacious rug," she said airily. He did not take the bait, to her clear frustration. Her scarlet eyes narrowed at him, fingers ceasing their task. "Am I now permitted company with other men?"

The king lifted his shoulders carelessly, reaching for his clothing. "Do what you like," he retorted. "No man will go near you." Melisandre froze, glancing down at herself in confusion. 

"They do not desire me, you mean?"

Stannis snorted. "Certainly they do. But they will not accept your advances."

"Why?" she demanded. 

He rose to his full height, dressing without a second glance at his irate priestess. "You belong to a king." 

Melisandre screwed her face up. "That is hardly well-known."

He stopped squarely in front of her. "We can make it more clear, if that is what you wish." 

_Oh._ "No— "

But he was already tearing her robe off, ripping the silk in two clean pieces. "There. You are free to go." 

She scowled. "That is the third one, Stannis."

"What was that?" Her mouth snapped shut. "You do not wish to go out bare?" He straightened his own doublet, feeling more composed now that he was dressed. "I admit, I am reluctant to send my pet out, exposed for all men to see. " She set her lethal glare upon the fire as he wrapped the ruined robe around her body, arranging the torn silk as neatly as possible. "But your ruby...I will take that."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?" 

"Because I command it."

The priestess sighed. Her gaze was wary as she peeled the choker from her neck. His own eyes darkened at the sight of her exposed throat.

"A startling sight, but more lovely than you know." Her cheeks flushed with indignation. She moved grudgingly to the door, taking it as a dismissal. "You are still reluctant to go out. Why?" he prompted. 

Melisandre glared at him. "I am all but naked. And my— " She gestured to the angry red and purple bruises on her neck. The king seemed slightly amused by this.

"You should be proud to bear my mark." She stared stubbornly at the door. "Shall I accompany you, my lady?"

"If it please you," she grumbled, feeling quite relieved. He took her arm, not bothering with a cloak of his own. It was a short walk to her rooms anyway. 

The winter air bit into her skin, but she did not truly feel it. Rather she felt the odd looks and snickers of those below their tower. Melisandre made her mind to stand tall and proud. _Let them stare._ She was on the arm of the one true king of Westeros.

Once they had reached her rooms, he gestured for her to enter first. She expected him to bid her a good evening, assuming he desired solitude for the rest of the day. But he only waited as she walked, puzzled, into her bedchamber. 

The sight that greeted her was even more confusing. Layers of crimson velvet were folded neatly upon her bed. 

"My lady." Stannis cleared his throat from the doorframe. "As I have so unkindly torn your gown, you may consider this replacement."

_Replacement?_

"Where…did you find this?" She ran her hands over the soft material, marveling at the deep colour. It seemed impossible to find such luxury at the Wall—especially a feminine garment. 

"A parcel from the finest tailor in Braavos. The wretch claims to have labored three weeks on it." The king snorted. "Charged me a damn fortune." 

Melisandre turned to him in disbelief. "You commissioned this?" She blinked. "For…me?" 

"It's on your bed, is it not?" 

"Yes, but— " She picked up the gown again. _Why?_ There was a strange flutter in her belly.

A crease formed between his brow. "Does it not please you?" 

"Oh, my king…" Her throat felt restricted, though she did not know why. She managed a dazzling smile. "It is beautiful." 

"Will you wear it tonight?"

"For sleeping?" she asked wryly. 

His deep voice sent a burning thrill between her thighs. "For me." 

It was only then that Melisandre noticed the Dornish wine in the bottom of Devan's carefully-prepared crate. She tilted her fiery head. "Why has the poor boy brought all of this up? Such delicacy, imported?"

"For you, I imagine." 

She turned back to the king. "I cannot possibly drink so much. Let us share the lot."  

Stannis looked disgusted. "You know I do not partake. I am not Robert."

"Come, it is our last night of enjoyment. One drink."

He groaned as she poured him an overflowing goblet, forcing it up to his lips. "It is not terrible," he admitted. Before he could stop himself, he tasted it several more times. She hummed into her own goblet. The sweet liquid warmed her throat and went straight to her thighs.  _As if she weren't burning already._  

"Not terrible at all," she murmured. 

There was no way to tell how much they consumed that evening. The bottle— _or was it bottles?_ —had become blurry over the course of the night, as had the rest of the world. After she had somehow changed into her new gown, she was half-dragged outside and through the studded gate of the King's Tower. It was unclear to her how they ended up in the training yard of Castle Black. She could not keep track of time. Stannis could barely walk. 

"My king, is the snow always so soft?" The feel of her velvet skirts brushing the snow was a curious sensation, and she began to turn in circles, staring at the ground in awe. 

"Hush, pet. Let us admire the stars." Wine evidently made Stannis a more tolerable person; charming even. He swept her abruptly up the stairs of the main castle. 

"You have partaken of too much, Sire." Her own voice was slurred. "You will freeze out here— "

"Did you know you are the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms?" For once, the priestess was speechless. "Clearly not," he said pleasantly. His hands slid about her waist. Some brothers had begun to take notice of their intimate conduct, their solemn, cold faces scandalized, so she attempted to slither from his embrace. He responded by pulling her back firmly against his chest. "You have a scent, too, you know." 

Her scarlet eyes widened. "Scent?"

"You told me I smelled like parchment. Do you remember? You smell better than parchment. Like smoke. And honeyed wine." 

"Dornish wine?" she suggested, giggling.

"Yes. Most alluring." To her shock, his lips found the white skin of her neck. "And mine," he purred. She felt the curious stares of more and more men, but her king only pushed her against the rough wall of the castle, increasing his attentions on her throat. 

"You are not yourself," she protested, voice strained. Her cheeks had taken a rosy flush. "They can see."

"Come, pet. They all know." He pulled back, sliding an arm about her waist again. "But I detest such gawking as well. Let us take our usual walk atop the Wall." 

"That is too far," she whined. Her pale hands pulled him into the nearest doorway.

It was the deserted common hall, the great timbered keep where the brothers took their meals. The king stumbled blindly ahead of her. "Yes, you are right. We shall go down to the vault."

She pulled him back by the hand. "No," she suddenly felt very amused, and could not control her fit of giggles. "No, we have already—you tied me up there once, do you remember— " Her lips found his before he could flush scarlet. Somehow they fell against one of the long tables, overturning a bench in the process. It made a dull thud against the wood of the floor. Melisandre found this even more entertaining, failing to stifle her wild laughter against her fist. 

Crows squawked their protest in the rafters.

Stannis glared. "Wretched creatures," he shouted, and she slapped a hand to his mouth, still giggling madly. He coaxed her arms above her head and kissed her soundly, until her laughter had dissolved into moans and sighs. She kept her hands obediently pinned above her, gripping the edge of the rough table, but brought her legs to hook about his narrow waist. To her irritation, the fine velvet skirt caught on the jagged wood of the table. It seemed even wine could not make Stannis a more patient man. He tore the new skirt violently above her waist, running his hands up her exposed calves, over her thighs, hips which were already bruised with scattered handprints. She saw the little hairs rising on her bare skin, though she did not feel the chill. 

"Please," she gasped, and he acquiesced, releasing himself to thrust into her. "Oh!" She hiccuped in surprise. His rough fingers found the aching point where their bodies were joined. "Yes," she cried, "yes, my king— " 

He said nothing as he took her, only nipped at the existing marks upon her neck. Her eyes drifted closed in the pleasurable haze. The wine in her belly was still a heavy warmth, _so warm_ , and her thighs were burning, and for once even  _he_ was burning. She cried out before she could stop herself, feeling the wood dig into her bare bottom as she writhed upon the table. 

"That was quick," he muttered, though his hands were soothing and gentle as she rode out her pleasure. The world seemed to melt away then. Her eyes were too heavy to open, so she let them stay closed. 

And then she remembered nothing.

_Ding. Ding._

"What— ?"  When she cracked a scarlet eye open again, her bedchamber was a multitude of swimming colours, blinding light, and searing pain. " _R'hllor_ ," she whined. Her new velvet gown was all but destroyed, hanging from her body by fraying threads. There were two neat piles of feathers in front of the fireplace. And Stannis was standing next to her bed in nothing but his breeches, just as bewildered. 

"Would you like to explain what happened last night?"

Melisandre groaned, her usual grace scattered like the fiery strands of her hair. She ran a hand through the wild tangles. "Dornish wine," she grumbled into the pillow.

The king glared accusingly at her. "No one saw us, certainly?" 

"On the contrary," she glared back, "You were most amorous, my king, and publicly so." 

"Father, Mother, blasted Seven," he cursed. In the distant common hall, a bell sounded again for the Night's Watch to take their morning meal. Stannis groaned, clutching his head. "Smith, Warrior, Maiden— "

"I am in no mood to tolerate your blaspheming tongue," she hissed, stalking clumsily from the bed. 

"Stranger. Crone." Melisandre slapped him upside the head. " _Hellcat_ ," he growled, fixing her with a particularly sour look.  

"Is she one of your false Seven?"

"No, she is mine own goddess, an insatiable, wicked creature who claws me dry."

She lifted her chin airily, hands smoothing down what remained of her new gown. "Unless you plan on apologizing, you may take your leave now." 

Stannis guffawed. "And how would I appease my hellcat? Shall I lie on the floor while you set fire to different parts of my body?" 

The priestess considered him with those unsettling red eyes. "It could be enjoyable," she smiled. At his horrified look, she threw her own head back in laughter, pulling him flush to her body. "We will recuperate on this rug before the fire, and you may prove your remorse to me in…other ways." 

He sighed irritably, but allowed her to curl into his bare chest. "You've already inebriated me with Dornish wine," he grumbled. "It seems I can deny my queen nothing."

Melisandre looked at him sharply, all amusement gone from the air. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"You know why. It is treason."

Stannis snorted. "But is it true?" 

She pushed him to his knees with a sigh. "Oh, yes."  

* * *

"An entire bloody week." Jon shook his head in disbelief. "Didn't think Stannis would last so long." Devan said nothing, only continued his slow descent down the stairs, two empty bottles under his arm. "Well? Are they quite taken with prayer?" 

Devan shifted, clearly traumatized by what he had just witnessed. "Only his Grace, it would seem."

"Only his _Grace?"_

"Yes, well— " The boy's wide eyes darted back to the tower. "He was the only one on his knees."


	7. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jon Snow knew very little, but he'd have to be blind not to see the ironic truth._
> 
> The game is settled, once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts** : oral power play / jealous!Stannis / Mel...ermm…swallowing 
> 
> xx

Jon could hear the king’s jaw cracking from across the room. “You speak rather willfully, my lady.”

“Because it’s a foolish idea,” Melisandre said sweetly, pacing the crowded solar as best she could. Men stepped helpfully out of her way. “You compromise with these lords, next they’ll convince you to worship their trees.” She spoke in that infuriatingly calm manner of hers, despite the fact that she was challenging the king’s leadership.

“Lord Snow." Jon stiffened when her hand brushed his shoulder a moment too long. “What say you? Perhaps we need a...younger opinion.” _What in seven hells is she on about?_ Melisandre flashed him a suggestive smile. “Surely you have a wiser plan than my king?” The room fell eerily silent.  _  
_

“I—No,” Jon said quickly. _Bloody witch._ “In any case, my _lady,_  I don't interfere with politics.”

Several dreadful moments passed, tension heavy in the air.

Then Stannis thundered, “Does anyone else have something they’d like to _share?"_

 _Probably not,_ Jon guessed, peeking around the room. The queen’s men were avoiding each other’s gazes. _These foolish fanatics hold the Lady Melisandre in high esteem, but mostly as a priestess of her red god._ Even they acknowledged she had rather…difficult opinions when it came to diplomacy. After all, it was an area she had little experience in, going off only her silly visions for reference. When forced to make a decision, no one would defend her over the king.

Stannis interpreted the silence as such. “Then we move forward,” he said directly at her, voice very low. No one dared speak as the king and priestess stared each other down. 

Jon, for one, found the unfolding drama most fascinating. He had never seen the two argue before. They seemed to be almost one person, traveling together at all times; usually the red woman was composed and serene in the king’s shadow. Clearly she was not afraid of voicing her opinion, but he had to assume she was only permitted to dissent in private. 

 _And now_ … To everyone’s horror, Melisandre sneered and turned her back on the king, opting to stare into her beloved flames.

 _He’s going to punish her for this offense,_ Jon realized,  _same as anyone else._ He vaguely registered the fact that the room had been dismissed, and  followed the other men as hastily as he could out the door. _He_  didn’t want to get caught in Stannis's inevitable wrath.

* * *

“Look at me.”

Melisandre heard the order almost as soon as the room was vacated. It had been some weeks since she’d found full submission under him, but she still struggled to restrain herself at times. _You do it on purpose,_ her mind accused; _you want him to hurt you._ She grudgingly turned to face him, meeting his livid stare. His voice was tight, as if he were trying very hard to keep the words even. “If you ever question me in front of my men again, I _will_ make you kiss my boots, and then you’ll command very little respect in court.” He clenched his fists so hard she heard the knuckles pop. “Do you understand?” A slight fear ran through her, and she almost regretted provoking him to such fury.

 _Almost._ “Yes, your Grace.”

“Good.” He indicated the desk with a curt nod. “Into position.”

He’d found long ago that it added to the punishment if he made her participate in her own degradation. _Smug in his victory,_ she thought, but she bent over the surface of his desk with little hesitation. She was already wet as she pulled her own skirts over her bottom. _You’re as incorrigible as he says,_ she rebuked herself;  _insatiable, insufferable,_ but her body would not be quieted. Her heart skipped with anticipation as he pulled off his own belt, though she tried to appear indifferent by staring into the fire again.

“Ten lashes,” he said. _Ten?_ She was slightly unnerved by that. Stannis always struck hard. Still, the flames soothed her, even as the leather bit into her skin over and over again, so rapid she could scarcely breathe. “When you gave yourself to me, you agreed to full ownership, did you not?” Melisandre hissed when the belt fell particularly strong. “Do you think I’ll allow my pet to flash her ankles at anyone who passes by?” The question was punctuated by another stinging blow.

“No,” she gasped.

The king flexed his hand when it grew weary. “No,” he confirmed, then resumed his discipline. “Can you restrain yourself from enjoying other men, or must I bind your wrists in full daylight?” Another harsh lash was laid across her thighs. “Perhaps I should blindfold you as well?”

Melisandre clenched her jaw. “No. I’ll behave properly.”

“Then what do you have to say for yourself?”

She felt such loathing for the desire that now coated the inside of her thighs. _Don’t let him see,_ her mind warned. “Please forgive my transgressions, Sire.”

His fingers found their way between her legs. _No, no, no…_ “Fuck,” he said hoarsely, and she shuddered at the profanity on his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” Her eyes fell shut at the accusation.

“No.”

He pulled her off the desk by her scarlet hair, and she only felt herself grow wetter. “Don’t tell me _no,_ ” he growled. Melisandre tried to wheedle out of his grasp, but he held her tight, and she whimpered as pain shot up the base of her neck. “Don’t,” he repeated. “Do you truly want to lie to me now?”

The discomfort was growing by the second, becoming unbearable. “It’s true,” she gasped. He didn’t release his hold on her, however, so she finally rambled in confession. “I wanted it, your Grace, that’s why I stood up to you, it's why I touched him, I wanted to anger you, please, please, excuse my depravity—“

“Only a slut would go to such lengths to be beaten,” he hissed, pulling her hair harder. She flushed at the insult.

“I know,” she whispered, “but please—”

“Do you want more of my belt?” His tone was blunt.

"I beg of you...” He finally released her, and she let out a shaky breath. 

“Too bad,” he muttered, walking back around his desk. She watched him warily. She knew better than to speak out of turn by now, but she still hoped he’d take pity on her. Instead he ordered her to kneel.  _He’s going to humiliate me,_ she realized, sinking miserably to her knees. _He knows how I hate being humbled._ He considered her a moment longer, then sat in his chair wearily. “Bring yourself over here.”

His meaning was clear, and Melisandre felt distraught. “Please, your Grace…”

“Now.”

She swallowed her pride and lowered her hands to the cold floor. _How Ser Davos would love to see me now, crawling on the floor like an animal._  Every movement felt agonizing as the pain in her bottom blossomed. She finally stopped before his boots, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She dared not look up at him, for fear he might notice her displeasure. "Not so long ago I gave you a reminder of what you are," he sighed, and her cheeks burned at the memory of that particular degradation with the wax. For a long moment there was nothing but the sound of him grinding his teeth. Then he shook his head as if coming to a conclusion. "Now, it would seem you need a reminder of who you belong to. Release me." 

Her head snapped up. _Surely he didn’t mean…?_ From the look on his face, he did. The priestess wasted no time in obeying. Her hands drew him out of the confines of his breeches, and he stiffened at her warm touch, but she waited before presuming to stroke him. “Do it,” he demanded simply. It was an act she rather enjoyed, so Melisandre was all too eager to comply, her hands gliding up and down his length. He grew harder under her caress, much to her satisfaction, but she wanted more.

“Sire…”

“What?”

“May I use my mouth?”

He closed his eyes as if it were the most distasteful request he’d ever received. “I’ll not stop you,” he grit out.

Melisandre drew out the anticipation as long as she could, but the moment his blue eyes flickered down to hers, her tongue darted out to tease him. He groaned, and she felt a surge of victory. _He’s giving me power over him, though he doesn’t realize it yet…_ Her fingers curled around him, pulling in firm strokes, and then her lips found the tip of him again to press fervent kisses there. He clenched the arms of the chair, hissing in pleasure. This time, the priestess was unable to suppress her smirk. Pain was the reward for her insolence; she was jerked back sharply by her hair. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he declared. _Ah, my king is learning_. “Hold your hands behind your back.” Her smile fell into a scowl, but she did as he commanded. “Can I trust you to keep them there, or must I restrain you?”

“They’ll stay where they are,” she grumbled. He seemed entertained by her new position. _Of course he is,_ she thought dryly. _He adores me vulnerable._

“As you were,” he said coolly, though she saw amusement tug at his lips when she struggled to resume the task. He took pity on her after a moment, tangling his hands into her hair and guiding her to him.

 _This is still no punishment,_ she decided as she took him fully into her mouth. But the idea was short-lived. To her shock he used his hands to pull her further down, then up, controlling her rhythm at his own leisure. _Well, well…he enjoys this more than he’s let on._ Before she could put together another coherent thought, she was forced over him more rapidly, again and again, and she had no choice but to let him use her. He groaned, loosening his grip on her red hair, and she dutifully maintained the pace he had set. It was degrading, but she was overcome, feeling her own lust dripping down her thighs. His fingers stroked her scalp slightly, and she moaned around him. _Maybe_ _I am a slut, as he says…_ Stannis seemed to have taken as much of this game as he could bear, and his hands tightened around her hair again, forcing himself into her throat. For a moment she feared she might choke, and she nearly let her arms fall from their position behind her back. Before she could truly panic, however, he retreated, apparently sympathetic to her struggles. She turned her head away once she was free, gasping for air, but his hands pulled her back to him.

“Please!” Her voice was hoarse.

“Do you truly regret your actions?”

“Yes,” she cried, “I'm sorry, I'll be good from now on…”

They both knew it was a lie. She would cross him again and again, if only to continue being used this roughly. Still, he seemed to accept the apology. She took him eagerly back into her mouth, and within seconds she sensed his pleasure, rubbing her own thighs together in arousal. His hands tightened in her hair again, and he stiffened, his voice a long groan. _Was he going to…?_ “Look at me,” he hissed, and she did, allowing him to see her shock as he spilled into her mouth. It was not the first time she’d performed such an act, but she was so taken aback by his bold behavior that she struggled to swallow. As he pulled himself together, she remained dazedly on her knees, wondering how she could tolerate such demeaning treatment. She grimaced down at the desire staining her crimson skirts. _How could she possibly be...?_

Her eyes fluttered closed in shame. “It may please your Grace...to allow me release.”

Disbelief crossed over his face as he evaluated her urgent state. “You enjoyed that.” It wasn’t a question. She met his gaze with open humility, hoping he might be generous, but he shook his head. “You have not earned such gratification.”

Melisandre nearly wept. “Have I not proven my compliance? You said ‘obedience brings pleasure!’”

“It does. But you did not obey, and this was your punishment. No begging changes that fact. Behave yourself next time.” Her lips turned down in a pout, and he wasn’t entirely resistant her charms. He stood with a sigh, pulling her to her feet as well. “Come to bed, kitten.”

Her heart skipped in reverence. “Yes, Sire.” They walked together to his bedchamber in silence, and after the servants had drawn a boiling bath, they found themselves alone once more. To her amazement Stannis pushed her gently into her favorite chair by the fire. Those same fingers that had brought pain not an hour ago were now running tenderly through her scarlet hair, pulling the pins away. “Relax,” he murmured, and she did, allowing her shoulders to drop their tension. Once her hair had been released, falling in soft, bloody waves down her back, he said, “Stand.” Melisandre obeyed, looking into his eyes as he undid the ties of her gown.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“You’ve already served your penance,” he said dryly, pushing the satin off her shoulders.

“But I am sorry,” she repeated, feeling a strange emotion choke her throat. “I don’t know…” she struggled. “I don’t know why I am…the way I am.”

“Which ‘way’ is that?”

The priestess met this gaze again. “I’ve realized…I am depraved,” she professed. “Hypocritical.” The confession felt like poison on her lips.

“As we all are,” Stannis frowned, guiding her to the bath. 

“You don’t understand,” she insisted, standing stubbornly by the water’s edge. He lifted an eyebrow at her difficult behavior, and she sighed, allowing him to guide her legs into the steaming tub. Her bottom ached as she sat, but the intense heat soothed her skin all the same. "Come in with me," she urged. 

He grimaced at the water. "It's wet."

 _R'hllor, grant me patience._ "Yes, Stannis." 

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of him pulling his doublet off, and she thought she might have won this battle. However, he only rolled his shirtsleeves up neatly.

“You think I don’t understand?” he continued, kneeling on the floor next to the tub. He hissed slightly when the water burned his hand. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, but she was intrigued by his words. “I condemn myself each time I let myself feel _anything_ , lust or otherwise,” he muttered. His hand ran soothingly down her back. ”What does your god say about judging ourselves?”

Her gaze slid over to him, but he was focused on bathing her. “I know,” she said, “but it’s different. Your desires are not so…corrupt, my king. It’s as you say. I want to be hurt. I want to be mistreated. The pain…” She furrowed her brow. “It's as with my flames. It is…I must purify myself, and my past.” Her eyes fell shut as emotion threatened her once again. “I am perverse,” she finished numbly.

The king coaxed her back against the tub. “You're right that I take little pleasure in treating you cruelly.” _I doubt that more and more_ , she mused. “Still, I don’t begrudge you your desires, perverse or not.”

“Why not?”

He sighed, running his fingers briefly across her jaw. “Because if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that we’re flawed creatures, but not forsaken.” She was startled by this stroke of empathy from her king. “And because it brings you contentment,” he confessed.

Melisandre frowned, but she was still in awe. “You’re willing to feel shame for my sake?”

He looked at her as if her questions were quite irrational. “You yielded yourself to me. It is my _duty_ to look after your needs.”

“What of yours?” she murmured, flushing when one of his hands ran down her belly, then lower still.

“I won ownership of you. There is nothing more I could need.” 

She wanted to be annoyed at his claim, his victory, but for some reason she felt only a wave of warmth in her chest. A sly smile made its way to her mouth. “Yet you’d be content with a meek pet, wouldn’t you? Someone who doesn’t bite back?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his fingers finding her aching clit beneath the water. She moaned at the sudden stimulation, arching her back, and a rare smile tugged at his own lips. “But that’s not my kitten.”

Melisandre clawed at the side of the tub, gasping at his continued caresses. “No,” she agreed, “yours needs constant discipline.”

“So it would seem.” At that he pulled away, drying his arms on a towel as if nothing had happened. 

 _Drag him into the water,_ she thought wildly. Her voice was a whine. “My king…”

Stannis stood, holding out the towel for her to step into. “Quiet,” he scolded. “I told you, only obedience brings pleasure. I have not forgotten your wrongdoings today.” She sighed but allowed him to dry her off as if she were the most precious thing in the world. “You need discipline,” he echoed her own words sternly. “I do it because I must.”

“Your duty, yes,” she grumbled, but her ire dissipated when he eased her into bed. “Will you hold me tonight?” It was a bold request, but he seemed to sense her vulnerability that night. She sighed happily when his arm found her waist, and her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. “Thank you,” she said after several minutes. They both knew she was talking about more than their current position. "Tomorrow I shall bathe _you._ "

He shrugged away from her wandering fingers. "I think not," he said hastily. 

"I think yes, though we may leave the tub more dirty than clean."

Stannis groaned. "No, woman."

"I have the image in my head now. Fear not, I'll be thorough in washing your co—" 

" _Gods._ " That earned him a lethal glare, but he ignored it. "I should have cleaned your mouth out as well," he muttered.

She buried her grin into his chest, allowing a comfortable repose to fall between them. "You still wouldn't want another pet?"

"No," he persisted. "And you had best get used to being mine." She wrapped her arms around his stiff torso.

"Perhaps I'll grow to love my chains," she sighed dramatically.

His voice was so quiet she barely heard him. "And he who owns you."

Melisandre's mind went blank, even as his fingers soothed down her spine. _  
_

"I think it inevitable..." he added, "as it was for me."

* * *

Jon Snow had seen things. He knew little and understood less, but he saw a great deal. 

The night was cold and still when he wandered underground in a fit of sleeplessness, thinking to check the dwindling food stores. Most men were slumbering, but not all, evidently. His ears picked up strange sounds as they echoed off the stone walls. 

" _Oh…_ "

Jon froze. _A woman's voice?_ No, there were no women at the Wall. It certainly wasn't Gilly. _Unless—_

"Yes!" 

He knew that lilting voice. It was the priestess, very clearly in the throes of passion with some rogue.  _Seven hells._ Only a day since her last confrontation, and already she was stirring up some new deviance?

An even more nagging question was which of his men he would inevitably have to punish. The young lord commander crept closer to the erotic sounds, wincing at the awkwardness of it all. 

"Please…" she cried. Her partner was far less vocal. Even when he replied his voice was very low, as if he were speaking into her ear. 

She cried out, and Jon heard them, then, just around the corner. _Damn._  He certainly didn't want to witness this, but it was his responsibility to enforce the rules of the Night's Watch, to keep his men in check. 

"My release," she was gasping, "please!"

 _Why would she be begging for that? The proud red woman, of all people?_ The man said something in return, and she moaned. Jon's curiosity increased ten-fold, so he finally peeked around the wall. 

_"Oh, oh…!"_

He saw her then, on the other side of the room. It was undeniably the priestess, like a red stain in the dim light of the vault. Thankfully her eyes were closed in her ecstasy. He squinted, utterly dumbfounded when he noticed her wrists bound with rope to the metal grate behind her. She was panting, half-suspended with legs about the man's waist.  _But who?_ It was so dark. 

The man thrust harder when she began to near her pleasure. " _Mmm…_ Sire _…_ "

_Sire?_

No, it couldn't be—

Jon strained his eyes harder. _Oh._

It was.

His gloved fingers were slipped beneath her ruby choker, restraining the priestess with a gentle hold about her white throat. Jon saw only his back, but there was no mistaking that tall, rigid form. 

Evidently Jon knew even less than he'd previously thought. He had assumed the king never forgave those who crossed him — that he'd scowl and shun them for some time, at the very least. Not her, apparently. _One day she infuriates him, the next he's fucking her in a cold cellar._

Incredible.

The king spoke again, his voice deep and controlled, and Melisandre moaned. 

"Yes, I'm yours, _yours_ , please _,_ I need it—" 

Suddenly things made more sense. Her petty games to incite jealousy, those lewd japes his men muttered when she breezed by...  _She likes it rough, that one. Stannis's sellswords walked in once, red bitch was bent over, covered in—_

 _"That's enough_ ," Jon had ordered, grimacing all the while. He gave their fantasies very little credence. His command was made up of celibate men, desperate for even a glimpse of a woman. And a beautiful one like the Lady Melisandre — well, she surely got their minds running. Jon hadn't thought their rumors might actually have truth.

_Until now._

To his great annoyance he felt a stirring in his own body. _But bloody hells, the ways her hips rocked, fiery hair falling over her glistening skin..._ Jon couldn't deny that she was ravishing.

The king couldn't either, it would seem. He finally gave in to her, dragging his free hand between her legs. "Yes, kitten," he urged, kissing her neck as she began to unravel. 

_Kitten?_

"Oh, gods." Jon clapped a hand to his mouth before any other exclamation could spill out, and that effectively shook him out of his reverie. To his immense relief the couple did not hear him; the priestess was wailing too loud for that, reaching a hard climax. Still, _he_ had heard enough — and seen enough — to last a lifetime. Jon Snow crept back around the wall, down the corridor, ascending the stairs as if a wight were chasing him. By the time he reached the main castle he was sprinting like a woodland creature.

 _I'm going to heave,_ he thought, but he still wasn't able to suppress his chuckling. 

_So, the righteous king has fallen..._

Jon knew very little. But he knew that ironic truth, at least, and one thing more; he'd have to be blind not to see it. In the end he supposed it was inevitable, but that didn't make it any less comical.

 _Stannis Baratheon was hopelessly smitten with his red priestess._  


	8. Intoxicated | Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre has sorcery up her sleeves…Stannis has cards of his own to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts** : "Dom!Stannis surprising Mel,sex against wall" | drugged!Stannis
> 
> xx

[ ](http://pre00.deviantart.net/b346/th/pre/i/2014/077/3/4/bloody_rome_by_vmpselene-d7ap3tq.jpg)

* * *

It had been a long time since he'd last taken her. 

_Far too long._

At first the priestess did not mind the reprieve—there was something oddly peaceful about the air of indifference between them. _Yes, I'll wait tamely upon his desires._ She could humour him that much. They both knew who held the true power. 

It was only a matter of time before Stannis lost patience, after all. Her eyes glimpsed wicked images in the flames, the anticipation painting her cheeks an even rosier red. When he did break, would he order her to her knees? Perhaps he'd simply bend her over the table. The thought excited her. Oh, he would coax some humiliating words from her. She'd even pretend that she was truly submissive to him, that he had mastered her defiant behaviour with his palm or his belt. But then he'd worship her like a man would his goddess, seeking her pleasure all night, and her victory over him would be painfully evident. It was a simple enough tactic, one that proved successful time and time again. There was but one problem. 

This time, he did not break.

As the weeks dragged on, frustration welled up within her veins.  _Had she underestimated him?_  It was true that he'd surprised her before in his commitment to the game. But her confidence had never been shaken like this. 

On and on the silent battle went, enraging her more with each passing day. Stannis Baratheon could be a complicated man, but neither of them were stupid. He knew very well that she was burning, aching for him to touch her, yet he initiated neither discipline or intimacy. Each rare word or glance he'd offered suddenly felt like a stinging, suffocating rejection, and a new question presented itself, consuming all sanity in her mind.

_What did he want from her?_

It was late when she slithered into his rooms, resolved to learn the answer. "Come," he said impatiently, remaining seated at his desk. "I called for you an hour ago. Where have you been?" 

"Forgive me, your Grace. The flames called my attention longer than expected." Her head tilted pointedly toward the fire. "You could have sought me out yourself," she added boldly. 

Stannis clenched his jaw at her insolence. After another moment, he went back to scowling at some parchment or other. "Leave."

Her red head whipped around in surprise. "Leave?" she repeated. 

His words were cold. "I no longer require you." 

Melisandre shifted, simultaneously offended and disquieted. _Was he genuinely displeased with her? Did he find her defiance undesirable now, such that he no longer found a dark pleasure in disciplining her?_ "And when shall you _require_ me?"

"You will know," he said, offering nothing more. Her feet itched to flee as he had commanded, but her mind was far more obstinate. Stannis sighed, still not glancing up at her. "Did I not tell you to leave?"

"You did, Sire."

"Then do as I command."

"No," she replied.

He raised an eyebrow, looking up at her for the first time. " _No?"_

Melisandre was quite finished playing the patient, agreeable pet. "If I leave, I shall seek out another," she admitted, relishing the scandalised look on his face. "Is that what you prefer, my king? To hear my moans from Lord Snow's chambers?"

"I hope I misunderstand your meaning, wench."

"I do not," she retorted. "If I cannot have a real man, a boy must do. At least he seems capable of getting it up for me."

She could tell her king was sufficiently triggered. It was to her relief and horror that he stood and began stalking toward her with murder in his eyes. A white-hot flame coursed through her body as his hand gripped her pale throat, ruby choker and all. "And what about me?" he inquired, voice terrifyingly soft. She stifled a moan, arching her body into his touch. He dragged her own slender hand to the betraying hardness between his legs, and she squirmed shamelessly. "Do I seem so _incapable?"_

"Well…"

Incensed, he tightened his grip on her neck, and her words were swallowed up by the sweet burning sensation. "You think me some kind of weak, impotent fool? I am your rightful king and lord, eight and thirty years, far more  _capable_ than your green boys. Must I beat you each day to prove it, use you like some kind of brothel whore?" Her head swam with the dizzying, euphoric pleasure of lacking for air. "I expect a proper answer," he prompted. 

"N-no, Sire— " Just as her body burned with pain and submission, his grip abruptly loosened, leaving her chest heaving with precious cool air. 

“Good." Her scarlet eyes fluttered as he stroked the pale column of her throat. "Now leave. Flaunt yourself in the barracks if you wish. And when they ask how you received those bruises, you will say they are a gift from the king.”

Melisandre glowered up at him, thighs still burning with desperation. "You are being callous," she muttered.

He released her to turn on his heel. "As I said. You are encouraged to take your leave."

It took all her willpower to blink back her hurt and not speak sharply in return. Did he truly not desire her any more? His body said otherwise, but perhaps…

_Had he found another?_

She opened her mouth to inquire, to tempt him into giving her relief between her thighs, even to beg his forgiveness. But her pride reminded her that she had committed no offence in the first place. So it was she finally reached her breaking point, slinking away in search of the right vial in her little chest from Asshai.

* * *

Melisandre stood before the lone window in her bedchamber, counting the minutes as they dragged by. Her mind drifted absently from thought to thought. _Will he know I mixed it in?_ The thin crescent moon offered no reassurance, suspended over the dark landscape of the North like an icy blade. Where was the red gleam she had always seen over Dragonstone? Cold, unfamiliar doubt began to churn in her belly.  _Would Stannis even drink his water with supper?_

The opening of the doors made no sound, yet her instincts pulsed in warning, long before he spoke. 

"You should greet your king."

 _Defy him,_ her mind hissed, _bind him to your bed with a thousand ropes, ride him until he begs for mercy._ The indignity of finding herself in such a desperate position—helpless and waiting upon his every whim—was almost too much to bear. Yet to do as her pride demanded would result in pain, not the pleasure and control she so craved.

Slowly she turned, and the cold fury in those deep blue eyes surged straight through her. Stannis had discarded his cloak, and her eyes moved over the sinewy lines of his chest and arms before settling upon his obvious arousal, strong and insistent against his breeches.  _Ah, what do we have here? It seems he has drunk the full dosage._ A satisfied throb began between her own thighs.

"You owe me an explanation," he said tightly. 

Melisandre lowered her lashes to hide the triumph dancing through her. “Explanation, my king?" He started toward her like a beast stalking his prey. She backed instinctively away from him, inching around her worn chest from Asshai.

He merely narrowed his eyes at her coy display. "I think you know." Terror rushed through her as her knees bumped up against the end of her bed, and she braced herself, realizing she had no choice but to run. She’d only taken two bounding steps, however, before she was caught by a hand around her already abused neck. Her fiery eyes widened in genuine fear, noting how rage lined his every muscle.

“My ki— " The breath shuddered from her lungs as he pulled her by her choker. She stumbled in pain, her body strained as she refused to bend beneath the pressure and fall against him.

"You have forgotten your place,” he said lowly, pulling her insistently forward. Some part of her knew that she should back down now, yet her mad, stubborn impulses refused to be controlled. "Instead of being patient, of seeking to please me, you thought to make me jealous, and now you attempt to test me physically. The fact remains. You want to be claimed, don't you? Violently."

Melisandre avoided his stormy eyes. "'Claimed' is not the word I would use.”

To her surprise, this flared his anger even more. "But you don’t deny your crime? I should tie you to this bed and leave you to ache without relief!"

Her pride sparked to the surface as she fought to escape his brutal hold. "You've already done so for weeks," she snapped. “I don't need you. It appears that  _you_  are in the more desperate state, my king…and if my measurements were correct, your little problem could last several days yet.”

He cursed harshly, his free closing around her upper arm and dragging her up against him. The problem she spoke of burned tantalisingly against her gown, hard and unyielding and anything but  _little_. “You never learn,” he said lowly. She felt her nipples tighten where they rubbed against his solid chest. “Is it so difficult to be obedient for me? Would you prefer to lie beneath a knight who views you as a thing to be fucked, with no thoughts for your pleasure or happiness? I can arrange it, if you find my company so unpleasant.” His thumb slid beneath her chin, forcing her head back. "Or would you truly like a pretty lad who doesn't know how to please you? Do you think _Jon Snow_ would know that you like to be held down, belted and scolded like a naughty girl?”

The amusement in his words annoyed her. "I don't— "

"You don't have permission to argue," Stannis cut in coolly. _Arrogant, cruel bastard._  He simply sneered at her defiance. "I have shown you favour that many would consider a weakness, and still you question my authority, interrupting me at any turn. Such a foolish pet I have. And so lustful, so desperate to be used, that she resorts to intoxicating my food and drink with sorcery. Did you never consider that your feminine charms might be perfectly conducive in securing my attentions? All you had to do was ask nicely." 

Fury boiled over within her veins. "Fuck your _attentions—_ " Her angry tirade was cut off as his lips closed over hers. Fingers tangled in the copper hair at her nape, holding her prisoner beneath his rough mouth. The kiss was punishing, brutal, leaving her breathless.

"I've told you. My priestess will not use her mouth for vulgarity." His fingers tugged downward, attempting to pull her to her knees. "Perhaps I should put it to better use."

" _No_ ," she seethed, though it was the very scenario she had fantasised about for weeks. Her scarlet figure twisted away from him, but he caught her by her upper arm, swinging her back around. 

"You dare tell me 'no' after dosing me with this poison?"Melisandre's gaze flashed even redder. He pulled her downward again, but she resisted wildly. His teeth caught her earlobe in warning. “I’m afraid you don’t understand, pet. There is no refusing, certainly not until you’ve corrected what you’ve done to me.”

His large hands slid down over her hips and cupped her bottom, drawing her firmly up against him. She squirmed to discover the full effect of her sorcery. How she craved it, that burning heat pulsing against her belly! A flutter of ecstatic anticipation settled between her thighs. _This is what you wanted all along,_ she reminded herself, _just tell him what he wants to hear and you will have it…_ Yet some part of her was blocking that from happening. No matter how badly her body ached, no matter how many times she yielded and said the words, her spirit refused to submit to him. 

At that moment, however, her king did not seem to care. A moan escaped her as he tore at her scarlet robe, but she did not protest, not even as firm hands settled on her hips, turning her in his arms and drawing her back up against his chest. His strength enveloped her, the salty scent of him weakening her. Hands glided possessively up her smooth belly, her delicate ribcage, then closed over her tender breasts, moulding them to his calloused palms. She writhed and arched against him, her bottom seeking the hard ridge pushing against it. A shiver raced through her as his teeth skimmed her neck.

"Stannis," she gasped, not caring how smug it would make him. Usually he was so careful, reserved and detached, even in their most intimate moments. She had certainly never witnessed such passion from him!

A thigh forced itself between hers, the stiff leather teasing the skin of her inner thighs. "Your body knows its owner," he said evenly. Melisandre stiffened at his words, indignation burning through her. Oh, but her body ached for it, to be filled with what was sliding up between her thighs...

_No!_

She tore herself from him, intent on putting as much distance as possible between them. "You are not my _owner_ ," she spat. The words seemed to inflame him. Stannis caught her around her waist, hauling her off her feet. He carried her to the wall, pushing her roughly against the stones as she gazed at him rebelliously. Uncaring, he yanked her thighs tight about his waist, pulling at the ties of his breeches. She swallowed hard as he pushed them down over his hips.

 _Yes,_ she thought,  _yes, yes, take me..._

A large hand curled around her lily-white thigh, and she remembered that she was supposed to be cross with him. Her fingers raked over his shoulders, his chest, her legs kicking as she fought to twist away from his hold. 

Stannis seemed amused with her struggle. His free hand closed around her other thigh, drawing her closer to his hardness, stilling her frantic movements. "You serve me. That makes you mine; is that so impossible to grasp? I'll not tolerate you thinking otherwise."

"Stupid man," Melisandre hissed, petulantly scratching him as she struggled to free herself. He simply chuckled. His large hands lowered her on top of him, filling her slowly, his weight pinning her body against the dark wall. “No, no,” she whimpered, but it came as more of a moan than a protest. Quivers raced through her as she adjusted to the almost uncomfortable fullness of him after so long. He dragged her hands above her head, pinning them there with one hand.

Still she struggled madly, writing like an animal in captivity, but he shot her a hard look. “Stay still or I will tie you up.” Her body immediately calmed, and his other slid down her belly to find the spot she liked best. She groaned, arching her hips as he stoked her silken flesh, urging him on. “Good girl," he praised. Her nails dug into the hand restraining her, even as her pale feet slid along the backs of his thighs. What little control she had was slipping as fingers worked furiously between her thighs. “Stubborn thing,” he muttered, "I promise you will remember this lesson."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she attempted to ignore his touch, yet she was unable to prevent the frenzy of need rising over her neglected flesh. It had been so long since their last coupling, of the feel of his body moving in hers. Shameful moisture seeped from her as his hands tormented her. "Oh..." 

"Your body is too responsive to win this game," he said dryly. Soft pants escaped her at the delicious agony of him impaling her, her lithe body held in suspense. Everything but the feel of him was forgotten. "Continue playing innocent, kitten. Tell me you don't need me, and I will leave you now."

Frustration tore at her, but pride demanded that she not concede. After what seemed an age, he began to withdraw from her. “No,” she murmured as pleasure rippled between her thighs.

Stannis stilled inside of her clenching heat. "No what?"

She turned her face away from him, her eyes squeezed shut. He drew further from her and her thighs tightened against his hips, holding him still. "Please, I need it, I'm a whore, a dirty whore!" _Is that what he wants to hear?_

"I know what you are. Now acknowledge who you belong to." 

She glowered stubbornly at him, the thrust of her breasts peeking through strands of her disheveled red hair. "I..." _She was so close!_ When he showed no sign of yielding, she whined with frustration. "I won't say that again, not when it is a lie!"

He growled impatiently and brought her down hard upon him. Her head fell back against the wall, eyes falling shut as desperate cries escaped her. "Look at who owns you, Melisandre." Her body pushed down blindly as she sought to keep him inside of her. " _Melisandre_." 

Her voice finally came as a whisper. "I cannot. You are not he."

The king's eyes turned darker. After a moment, he abruptly withdrew himself from her body, lowering her to unsteady legs. "My king," she gasped. She fell dazedly against the wall, but he was already righting his clothing.

"It's really quite simple, pet. You can come crawling to me in defeat…or you can find another to serve." 

By the time she gathered her wits, he had marched from her rooms without so much as a glance at her, leaving her to shriek in aching frustration.


	9. Intoxicated | Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Lady Melisandre," the king interrupted. Her lashes fluttered closed at the force behind those two words. "Why do you not kneel like all the others?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt** : "Stannis shows in public(Castle Black) who Melisandre belongs to"  
> xx

[ _ _ ](https://500px.com/pfotograf)

* * *

" _It's really quite simple, pet. You can come crawling to me in defeat…or you can find another to serve."_  

_By the time she gathered her wits, he had marched from her rooms without so much as a glance at her, leaving her to shriek in aching frustration._

* * *

Sharp footsteps echoed around the king's solar. The queen’s men turned and took the knee in unison, recognising the harsh sound at once. But the priestess only caught a glimpse of his lean figure before turning back to the fire.

Justin Massey piped up with his customary smile. "Your Grace, we had hoped to discuss the northern— "

"Lady Melisandre," the king interrupted. Her lashes fluttered closed at the force behind those two words. "Why do you not kneel like all the others?"

She struggled to breathe without flinging curses at his infuriating face. "You have never required me to kneel before.”

“I do now," he said coolly. She remained with her back to him. "I am your king, woman.”

“My king, not my _god_ ,” she retorted. His men murmured their shock at her defiance, though none dared speak against their beloved priestess.

After a moment she felt the whisper of his leather doublet, the movement stirring the fiery tendrils of her hair. "Do not force me to punish you before my knights," he said lowly. "If I want you to kneel, you will kneel. We both know that." The silence stretched between them as she refused to accede to his command. He caught her wrist and dragged her around to face him. Intense blue eyes raked over her robes from the red temple, narrowing at the high collar which masked her bruises. "Remove this foreign rag," he demanded. Her eyes widened in stunned indignity. "If you wish to act like a rebellious harlot, then I shall treat you like one. And a harlot does not wear the garments of a priestess."

"How dare you?” she spat. His knights finally rose uneasily and glanced among themselves. Melisandre ignored them, wrenching herself from the king's grasp. "Insult me all you like. I live to please someone much greater."

He snorted. "Am I not the true God's champion?"

"Azor Ahai was only ever mortal, Sire. Without the favour of R'hllor, he is powerless as a newborn babe." 

He clenched his jaw. "Do not mock me, Melisandre. Not now, when I am so furious I can't decide whether to throttle you or take you where you stand. Kneel before me and acknowledge my authority, or I will show your devoted knights who you truly  _live to please._ "

She glared at him, her red eyes sparking.

"So be it." Large hands settled on her waist to yank at the sash there, tearing at the heavy red cloth without care. His voice came low and rapid, for her ears only. "Your bloody magic still hasn't worn off, you know that? I've spent the last days and nights in agony. My mind tortures me with thoughts of you and  _that boy_ , of other men intent on exhausting their lusts between your thighs. Thighs which belong to me." His words left her flushed as he finally tore the robe from her body. A wispy shift clung to the curves of her breasts and hips, exposing the shameful dark markings that adorned her usually flawless skin. 

It was a small mercy when his possessiveness kicked in. “Leave,” he ordered the wide-eyed knights.

As the hurried footsteps grew quieter and quieter, she heard the king’s indrawn breath, felt his hands gentle as they slipped about her slender waist. His palms slid up and cupped her tender breasts, drawing her back against the solid, muscular length of him. She had to bite her lip to prevent a groan escaping. 

“You didn't think I'd do it, did you? Perhaps we need a new rule…you'll wear only _my_ gifts, or nothing but my bruises.” 

She loathed the betraying warmth between her thighs. “I will wear the robes I have earned, or anything else I so choose,” she snapped in response. Still, her lashes fluttered as he peeled the coarse shift down to expose her flushed skin. Her breasts strained for his caresses, the rosy tips tightening against the cold air. _He has become better at seduction,_ she silently admitted. Rage warred with a need to feel him touch her again after such neglect.

"Why do you fight your king?” he asked dryly. Fingers stroked teasingly, and pleasure thrummed within her. His lips brushed her bared shoulder. "You want this.”

His priestess turned abruptly to face him, not bothering to cover herself. "Why do you treat me as a possession, to pick up and put down at will?" she countered angrily. His broad shoulders blocked her view of any escape, but she pushed past him and strode toward the arched entrance. He caught her upper arm, twisting her back around to face him. _"Why couldn't you leave it as a game?"_ she demanded, stumbling slightly upon her ruined robes. This gave him a chance to imprison her against his hard body. 

"You wish to know _why?_   Because you are exquisite, the only thing I have ever sought to conquer outside of duty. I'll never be satisfied until I have you completely." She struggled slightly, increasingly aware of the hardness straining against his breeches. A shiver skated down her spine as she remembered the feel of him pressing insistently inside of her. It did not escape his notice. "End this foolish struggle. I am your lord and master, it's not hard to grasp."

"I have but one lord, R'hllor, and no _master!"_  

His gaze softened. "I know why you resist submission,” he admitted dully. “You think I don’t hear you calling in your sleep? That my heart doesn’t ache to imagine the pain you’ve known? The things you cry out, the image of you and those wretched men, Slaver’s Bay— "

Melisandre pushed violently against his chest, but he caught her wrists, pinning them at the small of her back with one hand. Her breasts rose and fell heavily as his mouth brushed hers. An arm tightened about her waist, drawing her body's length against his. After a moment she fell still against him. He realised with horror that she was weeping.

“My shadow…"

She turned her head away in despair, eyes screwed closed. “You should understand,” she whispered. Tears spilled over from her strange eyes. “You, of all people, should understand.”  

He frowned for a long moment, hands falling uselessly to his sides. “Some things I can never fully understand. But you must let me in, Melisandre."

"It is too— "

"You think I am one to swoon at horror or tragedy?"

Her scarlet gaze was hard. "You would never look at me the same, my king."

"Perhaps not. But I chose to care for you, no matter the circumstances." He cradled her face in a rare caress. "You chose it as well,” he reminded her. “This was yours, willingly your decision, your own yielding. And gods, I want you. All of you."

"Why?" 

The king looked exasperated. "Because you have me," he said bluntly. Her eyes betrayed her shock. "Foolish thing. Have I not made that clear?  _Everyone_ knows you are mistress of me, holding my heart in your pretty hand. No longer can I surrender so fully and be content with just parts of you, left aching and yearning to know the whole. I beat you and treat you cruelly because you enjoy it, but I care little for bodily submission. Surely you know that. If you don’t wish to grant me yourself, all of yourself, you could walk away…and I would let you." His eyes darkened. "But it would kill me to know you remain chained to that girl in your fires."

Her brow furrowed. “I was not that girl." He did not respond, only watched her as if to test her sincerity. " _I am not that girl_ ," she hissed. 

"Then what are you?" 

She regarded him warily, uncertain of which game he was playing, and intensely uncomfortable with the fact. "I will yield, if that is what you want," she muttered.

Stannis seemed disappointed, somehow. He nodded shortly before pulling a dark piece of fabric from his pocket. "Turn."

There was little hesitation in her movement—only a kind of determination to prove her invincibility to him, no matter how he bound or gagged or beat her. But at the first feel of the black silk against her eyes, all pride was dashed out. "Don't," she panicked, feeling every bit the young girl in her flames. "No, no darkness, please— "

Stannis stilled his hands to calm her. "Hush. Do you trust me?" 

"I cannot, not that— "

"Do you trust me?" he repeated. 

She buried her chin against her chest, feeling suffocating tears creep up her throat. But his hand was soothing as it traced the length of her spine. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I trust you." He allowed her rapid breathing to slow before securing the fabric over her eyes. As darkness enveloped her senses, her heart began pounding in fear once more. "No," she cried, though she did not know what she was protesting. She nearly jumped as hands soothed down the length of her arms. 

"I am here. I'll not harm you, or leave you in the dark. Can you trust me?" 

_He is lying, like they all do,_ a voice hissed. The world grew blacker and blacker, until another voice filled her mind.  

_He is your king._ _This is your Azor Ahai, your saviour._

She managed to nod her assent. Lips were pressed to her temple, and the darkness seemed to abate slightly. Gently his hand found her arm to guide her.

They walked in silence. After a moment, cool air bit into her face, and she gathered they had left his solar.  _They will see,_ she realised. There was whispering and furtive glances, she was sure of it, and tomorrow the whole castle would be gossiping about her defeat. Yet all she could focus upon was the steady hand around her arm, the heavy footsteps next to her own, the deep voice which guided her up the last frozen steps of the King's Tower. "We are nearly there," he murmured. _Yes, this is my Azor Ahai, my saviour. Nothing else matters._

Suddenly warmth enveloped her like an lover's embrace, and she could hear the calming, sweet sound of the fire. Melisandre released a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

“You truly don't know, do you?" The soft question caught her off guard, and she was unable to formulate a reply in her anxious state. He did not punish her for it, however. "The other evening, and just now, I asked you to tell me what you are," Stannis clarified. "You believed I was tormenting you, attempting to humiliate you. It occurs to me now that you simply don't know." Strong hands found her hips, and she tensed as she was lifted and spread gently across his bed. "What you  _were_  means nothing. You are my priestess. My priestess and my goddess, both. My lady, queen of my nights. Hells—queen of my days." Tears escaped from beneath her blindfold, though she tried desperately to keep them from falling. "Someday, perhaps, you will tell me about Melony. But now…now, you are exactly as you should be. Do you know why?" 

She gasped when she felt him between her ivory thighs, his bare skin comforting and familiar. "Sire…?"

_"Because you are mine."_

Pleasure suddenly overwhelmed her senses, washing over her in waves as he pushed inside her. The word fell unbidden from her lips, spoken in lucid understanding for the first time. "Yours…" It turned to sharp cries when he began driving into her with long, deep thrusts that rocked her to the core. Her climax was swift and unexpected, hands clinging to the broad shoulders rising over her.

"I'll not forsake you, not ever," Stannis promised. It was both reassuring and dangerously possessive. _True to her king's nature_. Flutters of ecstasy continued rippling through her as he rocked in her clinging heat for an eternity.

"Thank you," she whispered, not entirely certain what she was thanking him for, but desperate to do so all the same. 

All at once she was maneuvered to lie on her front, and again she felt the familiar coiling tension building low in her belly. Her hips moved desperately to meet his own, but he pushed her back down against the bed. "Don't move," he growled against her ear. "Just take it."

She shuddered at the command and attempted to relax her body completely. In the darkness there was nothing but the feel of him, hard and solid and safe, and _she_ was nothing—only _his_ , owned and protected and so very unafraid. "Please, please," she whimpered against the bedding, fisting her hands in the rich furs and her own tangled red hair. 

"That's my clever pet, allowing her king to take care of her…"

She moaned as he brought her to the edge again and again, allowing her release without hesitation. It was a thrilling after so many weeks of frustration, almost overwhelming—and he still had not come once. _Perhaps the lust potion had not been such a prudent revenge,_ she mused dazedly.

"Would you like your reward?"

"Not another," she moaned breathlessly, " _R'hllor,_  I cannot— "

"Ah, ah…I thought my kitten was never fatigued." She frowned beneath the blindfold, too drained to argue. "In any case," he said wryly, "I was not speaking of  _your_  pleasure." The words sent a new fire between her exhausted thighs. 

"Whatever you want, Sire, just have mercy— "

Thankfully he was not far from his finish. He was silent when he finally came, his seed spilling deep within her womb. Shortly after, the black silk was pulled from her eyes, and hands soothed down the smooth column of her back, tracing her spine in a steady motion. "Never deny me again," he commanded.

Her lips curled upward. He had been exceedingly gentle with her, but they were still two halves in opposition, clashing against each other like ice and fire. Her king was hard and rough where she was soft and warm; an unbeliever when she was the most devout of servants to the Lord. Yet even now she could feel the fresh bruises blossoming on her thighs, the soreness marking her as the king's. _Could she ever really deny him, when her body bore his possession?_

Melisandre stretched very slowly, trying to remember how to be his bold red woman once more. "If you desire me so badly, why do you avoid my bed for many weeks?" she grumbled.

He recoiled as if it were the most offensive idea in the world. "I do not simply _desire_ you." Long fingers stroked the fading bruises on her neck, and she wriggled her sated body against his. "I treasure you, my shadow. You are a rare thing to possess. Does a man make demands of his finest gold each day? I think not. Does he not instead tuck away his most valued jewel?"

Her lips turned down in a scowl, even as she kissed his side in contentment. "I am not an object." 

"No. But you are mine, and I'll not grow so familiar with your brilliance that I take you for granted." Her red eyes slid up in surprise, an odd flutter dancing within her chest. "See? You must trust me in all things. I do not take my responsibility lightly, pet."

"Your responsibility?" _Oh._  It was then the truth finally dawned upon her. The whole frustrating affair had been another lesson in patience and surrender—one which she had clearly failed.

_Well._ At least he had finally fucked her. 

"Speaking thus," he interrupted her lazy thoughts, "your lesson is not quite through. You must be punished for your disobedience." Melisandre froze, the scowl returning. He gave her no time to whine, dragging them both to stand. "You feel I've tested you enough. But my law is iron. I once told you if you ever questioned me in front of my men again, I would make you kiss my boots." At her incredulous gaze, he simply smirked. "No, they've seen enough. Privately will do."

His priestess glanced down at his boots, eyes betraying her distaste and irritation. _Does this man never undress?_ To his clear astonishment, she sunk to her knees and lowered her lips to the rough leather without further protest. Scarlet eyes slid expectantly up to his. "Am I forgiven?" He seemed too stunned to provide an answer. After a moment, she rose to her feet once more, looking ironically authoritarian. "Your turn," she said softly. 

The reaction on his face was indescribable, but she attempted to carve it into her memory, along with the sight of her king grudgingly lowering to creaking knees. She purred as he kissed her feet, then each of her pale toes, and gently up her aching body to nuzzle his sharp features between her thighs. Her breath caught as he doubled his efforts, eyes alight with desire. "Is the potion still so strong, Sire?" she teased. 

He lifted an eyebrow up at her. "This is not the potion's doing."

"How do you mean?"

"You think I didn't recognise the scent immediately? I never drank it," he said dryly. At her shocked look, his lips twitched up. "Not a drop, kitten."

Her scarlet eyes widened even more in alarm. "Then _how— ?"_

He chuckled darkly. "I told you. I need no potions to satisfy my priestess."  


	10. Indelicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre is having fantasies. The problem is, she can't tell the dreams from the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompts:** "Getting into a heated argument as Mel tries to slap him he takes her wrist and tucks it onto the wall. Stannis leans down to her ear and asked hoarsely "You truly want to try that again, Pet?"/"It is customary to kneel before your king"/"threesome about Stannis/Mel/Davos. It would be even better if it was Stannis' request and Mel was tied up, feeling so helpless under Davos. Or it could be like she is also blindfolded and finds out it was Davos who's been fucking her"
> 
> xx

__

* * *

_"It is customary to kneel before your king."_

_The captive priestess spat on the ground before his feet, her ruby pulsing with each rise and fall of her pale chest. "Bring her here," he grit out._

_Two guards hoisted her to where the king loomed tall and merciless. Enraged, the red figure dared to raise a fist to his chest. He caught it easily before twisting her around, trapping her back against him. Big, merciless hands restrained her arms like iron._

_Every eye was upon them—burning eyes locked upon her lithe body. "You truly wish to try that, pet?" he murmured in her ear. "To raise a hand to your new king? That is considered treason."_

_"You will never be my king," she seethed._

_He sighed and made a signal. A rough hand pushed her to her knees before him. And still the priestess defied him, pushing against the hands on her shoulders. "You cannot force me to kneel!"_

_The king kept his hard blue stare on her as he unlaced himself with rigid hands. "I just did. And now I will use your mouth."_

_"I am a priestess of R'hllor— "_

_"You are a spoil of war," he said coldly. A guard's spear pressed against her back. "You will do this for all to witness, and you will do it well."_

"Gods above and hells below," Stannis cursed. He glanced at his knights quarrelling down the hall, ensuring that no one was eavesdropping. "Go on, describe it," he murmured.

Melisandre smiled coyly, satisfied to have him hooked on her fantasy. "Here?"

"Where else? On the chamberpot?"

"The rest is quite indelicate…" 

"You started this, you temptress, now tell me the rest of your damned dream."

Her pale hands tugged him further into the shadows. "First the priestess resisted," she whispered. "But then…"

_All eyes were upon her. Knowing she had no choice, she parted ruby lips to accept the very tip of him._

_"Yes…" the king hissed. He was so hard, this king, every part of him. His fingers lowered to tangle in her copper hair, just as she moved her head forward to capture more of his length. "No matter how you struggle, I know you like being on your knees." His words sent unwanted heat between her legs. The priestess began shifting her thighs against one another, heavy-lidded eyes sliding up to his, and for the next minute they watched each other in heady arousal._

_"The priestess wants more, doesn't she?"_ _She could do nothing but offer a strangled moan in response._ _"Perhaps I'll share you with my court after I'm finished with you," he confided. "Would you like that? To be passed around and used on my command?"_

_R'hllor help her, she did want it. She wanted to serve him in any way he demanded, wanted to be filled up with men as he watched, but first she wanted him to stiffen and lurch forward to spill in her throat—_

"Melisandre!"

"I told you it was indelicate, my king."

Stannis pulled her by the arm, looking very uncomfortable. "We need to go to my rooms."

"Right _now?"_  

"I see through this ploy, woman. I haven't visited your bed in a month, and now you corner me with these wicked stories…yes, right now.”

Melisandre lifted her chin airily. "It so happens I have matters to attend."

Something dark flashed across his gaze. "No you don't," he said sharply. "You _will_ come with me and get your little fantasy. I know what you want, naughty thing." 

_Ah, there is the king from my dreams._ "Then you will take me so hard I can't walk for days?" 

Stannis growled. “You are going to regret that…request, my lady. First, I have my own matters to attend. But you will go to my rooms and wait for me there." 

The priestess pouted. "For how long?"

"As long as it takes for me to return. You will have plenty to do in the meantime…" He leaned forward and gave instructions in her ear, demands that sent a violent flush to even Melisandre's cheeks.

* * *

It was long past dusk when he returned. Blackness had spread across Dragonstone and its foggy sea, troubling her eye as she paced between the window and the fire. When she finally heard his study door open, her heart skipped with relief.

The king did not bother with greetings, simply pulled her in for a violent kiss. By the time he broke away Melisandre was whimpering in desperation. "My king…" It was this man she longed for in her dreams; all she had to do was tease him the right way and wait for his darker side to come out. 

"Look at my priestess, so very needy…" he murmured. "It has grown late, and I've been most negligent. Mayhaps you require supper?" 

"I so rarely hunger for food," she reminded him quickly. 

His eyes darkened for the thousandth time that day. "You are hungry for this, then…" Stannis placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to kneel on the rug below. She nearly giggled when she glimpsed the outline of his erection, proof that he had missed her as much as she missed him. 

_Damn him and bless him all at once…_

The king unlaced his breeches and grabbed her by the hair toward him. It was unceremonious, as always, but his priestess did not mind. She licked lazily along the length of his shaft, teasing the tip. Once his cock was slick from her attentions she slid it fully into her mouth, settling into a rhythm that would fire him up slowly. 

Such eagerness seemed to please him. "Is this like you dreamed, kitten?" Melisandre moaned around his shaft at the sound of her petname, eliciting a hoarse groan from him as well. He began to thrust more roughly, forcing her to deepen her strokes. Her red eyes fluttered shut. She worked intently, bobbing until he gripped her head and held her there. Soon Stannis stiffened and then there was a familiar saltiness in her mouth. 

"Gods," he sighed. 

After a moment he righted himself and pulled his priestess to her feet. She coughed slightly at the bitter seed lingering upon her tongue. "Let us get you some wine," he said wryly, laying a possessive hand at the nape of her neck. "It is time we retired." 

_Is that all?_   she wondered, feeling dejected. _He's not going to take me?_

Once inside his bedchamber, he sent for the goblet of wine—for her, of course, never for himself. “Have you cleaned yourself as I instructed?” he inquired. Melisandre felt heat rising to her milky skin. His stewards were still milling about, and the question forced her to remember the naughty thing he'd commanded her to do. Stannis scrutinised her, impatient for an answer. 

"Yes, my king."

"Both parts?"

She flushed deeper scarlet, confirmation that she had.  _But what was it for? R'hllor, was he going to push a candle into her bottom again?_

He spoke as calmly as if they were discussing politics. "And I trust you're not dry for me beneath those robes."

Melisandre managed to shake her head, drowning her shame in a long sip of wine. She half expected Stannis to demand a detailed description, but he simply stood and dismissed the lingering servants. Once the door was securely shut he turned to her. 

"Disrobe." His voice betrayed no emotion. 

She shuddered and obeyed, feeling his eyes rake down her silky red figure. _What was he planning?_   When she was mostly nude before him he smoothed a hand over her mussed copper hair. "On the edge of the bed, now, with your knees bent. I will need to inspect your preparations."

To her surprise she felt anxious as he coaxed the skirt above her hips. His free hand slipped beneath her shift, rough fingers teasing her nipples. "You are so beautiful, kitten. Do you have any idea of your beauty?" His gentle words calmed her nerves. 

"Thank you, my king…"

He coated a finger between her slick thighs. "Address me properly. Tonight is a night for following the rules."

"Your Grace," she corrected. 

Without warning he dragged his finger further down, pushing it into her lower entrance. She gasped and squirmed at the odd sensation. Stannis slapped her thigh gently, a rebuke in his eyes. "Stay still. You will behave faultlessly. I have a surprise planned for you and you will endeavour to earn it." The priestess tried her best not to move, even as he slid another finger in. Still, she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the invasion. 

At that moment there was a knock at the door. _Stannis would surely be murderous with someone interrupting them now!_  And yet he did not seem to mind at all, still focused upon stroking her between the legs. "Enter," he said casually. 

Melisandre froze in horror. Footsteps fell across the room, heavy boots echoing upon the stones. She could not identify the man with Stannis's figure blocking her view. Panic brewed at the thought of being exposed like this to a steward or anyone else. "Close your eyes," the king ordered.

She obeyed, but not without apprehension. Suddenly another hand replaced the king's, running over her breasts and between her thighs. "Sire! What—"

"Quiet," the king scolded. The strange hand was stroking her bottom. "My kitten has already lived out one part of her fantasy," Stannis informed the man. His deep voice was beside the bed now, his fingers soothing through her hair. "Why don't you tell our guest what else you requested?"

She was trembling. "I…requested to be taken very hard, until I cannot walk." 

Stannis spoke again. "You will address him as Ser."

"I want to be taken very hard…Ser."

"And what exactly did you dream last night, my pet?"

Cold realisation flooded her veins. "Of…being shared…"

"Open those legs wider," the king commanded. 

Melisandre was tempted to open her eyes instead. How she wanted to rage at them both, curse both this strange man and her cruel king.  _My king would not invite someone he didn't trust,_ she reminded herself, _he would not arrange something that would not give me pleasure…_  Still, her eyes burned with indignant tears at being tricked so callously.

Before she could protest, the man's beard was tickling her skin, a tongue flicking her clit. Melisandre made a small noise of delight. This stranger didn't know her body as well as her king did, but it was a relief to be pleasured after so long, and a secret thrill to be used in this way. He reached beneath her and gripped her hips, drawing her deeper into his mouth. At the same time he slipped a thick finger into her bottom, just as her king had.

The priestess let out a reluctant moan, feeling the familiar coil of warmth in her belly. She arched against his face helplessly, and he took his cue to increase the speed of his ministrations. "Sire, I am going to...please, Sire…" 

A hand grabbed her chin and forced her head back. "You will come only on my cock,” Stannis said sternly. 

She blinked up into the face of her king. "I don't understand, Sire…will he take me also?"

"Do you want him to?"

“I…”

He commanded her eyes closed again, and suddenly she was being lifted off the bed. She yelped blindly as two pairs of hands flipped her over, forcing her to straddle a familiar hard body. The world had become a surreal blur of sensation, a hazy mix of pleasure and fear. She moaned as she was lowered onto her king’s straining cock. "Oh please…please fuck me…" she begged. Stannis filled her completely and pulled her down until she was lying against his chest. It was then she felt the other man behind her. Melisandre tried to twist around, heart pounding madly in her chest, but Stannis held her close. “My king, what— "

"Are you ready, kitten?"

Something blunt was trying to push into that tight, forbidden entrance. “Ready?” she repeated, utterly dazed. Not even her king had taken her there, believing it an obscene practice, though he had used objects in punishment. 

Stannis glanced over her shoulder. "Now," was all he said. Melisandre cried out, forced to stare into the king's blue eyes as another man pushed inside her body. It was slow progress; she was slenderly built and Stannis was large as it were. 

"Ah,” she breathed, “ah, _ah…"_   Both men were still for a moment, allowing her to adjust.

"Look at me," the king instructed. Melisandre tried desperately to focus on him, to relax as her body clenched around them. She could feel them both so deeply! After a minute the pain subsided somewhat, leaving a strange pressure in its wake. 

They began moving in and out of her, gradually finding a rhythm. The feeling was so overwhelming that she could not even moan. Melisandre fell completely limp against her king, panting and whimpering against his neck.  _The complete depavity of it!_   The stranger was thrusting and cursing like a sailor behind her. His voice sounded eerily familiar, but her mind drowned it out, lost in the forbidden haze. 

Stannis spoke lowly in her ear. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

“Mm _—hng—!”_

"Such a naughty priestess. Does it hurt?"

"Yes," she gasped. 

"Do you want us to stop?"

Her thighs were trembling. “No…” 

"Very well, come for me."

Melisandre wailed as she came undone, arching desperately between them. They were both fucking their way to their own climaxes, uncaring of the fact that she was painfully tight. The mysterious man was first to finish, gripping her hips with clumsy force.

"Not inside her," the king grit out. 

She felt hot, wet ropes of _something_  on her back, and only then did she realise the stranger had pulled out of her. A few more savage thrusts and her own king was coming. She shuddered and rode him mindlessly, utterly removed from her senses. He caught her by the throat and yanked her down for a deep kiss, growling dirty praises into her mouth. 

Their eyes locked, and in that moment she felt more connected, more intimately bound to him than she had ever been. The thought was ironic with another man just inside her.  _How could Stannis indulge her most depraved needs and still gaze at her as if she were the most valuable thing in the world?_   

The other man had vanished from her thoughts completely, his touch but a vague sensation, until she realised that other man was missing knuckles on one hand.

"Relax, pet. Ser Davos is leaving now."

* * *

Cold sweat trickled down her neck. “Stannis—! "

"What, woman…" He cracked an eye open, squinting as she shot out of bed. "What is it?"

"What _is it?"_ She stalked wildly about the bedchamber, feeling feverish and betrayed. "You _whored me out to Davos!"_   She whirled around in accusation, fully expecting the knight to be lurking behind her.

But there was no sight of Davos in this room, no unwelcome hands on her back, no hard men inside her. Only Stannis lifting an eyebrow from his side of the bed, and the fire crackling quietly in the corner. After a long moment, the priestess pieced things together. “I suppose it was…a dream, my king." _But how could it be?_   _Her body felt so sticky!_   She brought a hand to her pounding heart. "Another dream. No, not another dream, but the worst kind of nightmare…”

" _Another_ dream?" he repeated, uncomprehending.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at him. "The first dream, remember—you opened your breeches before the whole court?" 

"That sounds nightmarish indeed."

"Surely you remember it! I told you earlier in the hall, while your knights were arguing in the Stone Drum."

Stannis looked bemused. "We are in the North, my lady."

"The North? No, I was just looking at the sea, on Dragonstone…"

He coaxed her to lie down once more. "Now I see why you avoid sleep," he muttered. "You were dreaming, my shadow. This is Castle Black."

"No," she insisted, "It felt real, I was on my knees…and then you shared me with the Onion Knight, of all men— " He cleared his throat at her rambling, and she felt utterly mortified. "I mean…"

"I'm aware of what you mean. It must have been very rousing.”

Melisandre followed his eyes to where her gown had bunched up. To her embarrassment there was a proper mess between her thighs. “I didn't do that,” she said flatly.

"Davos did, apparently."

Her cheeks burned. “Don't laugh at me. I wouldn’t be so indelicate as to fantasise of _Davos_  while you slept, no matter how many weeks you've neglected my bed.”

Stannis snorted. " _Neglected?_ Do you not recall what we did just hours ago?"

Her head felt heavy and full of fog. "I…"

"By gods, Melisandre, you were keening like a cat in heat. I know I've not been remiss in my visits."

At that moment she could not quite discern which memories were real or imagined, nor could she give a coherent excuse for her delirium. The unease abated as he kissed her forehead, those big hands reassuring around her waist. "What _did_ we do tonight?" she ventured. "I truly don't remember…" 

"Don't ask me to describe the deed aloud, my shame is too great."

"Ah…it must have been that Mole's Town position, the woman sitting on her lord's f— "

"Back to sleep, minx, I beg of you." 

She buried a smile against his side, a thousand wicked images flashing through her mind. "And make no mistake," she heard him murmur, "I would never let another man touch my priestess."

Sleep claimed her then, and a blissfully dreamless sleep it was. 


	11. Inexplicable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The king shook his head, utterly spent. "A taste of your own medicine, you insatiable thing."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Mel in Stannis's lap  
>  I did a...variations on a theme, kind of thing ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> xx

[ ](http://dolcemania.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 He was already late, but the king dressed meticulously, hoping to distract himself from the priestess splayed amongst the furs of his bed, her pale skin glistening from lovemaking. The room was heavy with the scent of man and woman, a testament to his shame.  _Your shame?_ _Don't pretend you're not proud, you wretch._

For once Melisandre did not seem concerned that the candles would flicker to ash at any moment. She stretched lazily, not a care in the world, arching her back in temptation.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Playing again so soon, kitten?" She made a purring sound deep in her throat and moved so he could see her thighs, still wet and throbbing deliciously from the pounding she had received earlier. "Melisandre…" His throat was suddenly very dry. "We must leave this room at _some_ point."

"Oh," she said airily. One of her fingers trailed feather-light circles from her collarbone to her navel. "Let us remain here for the day," she proposed.

The idea was tempting, but he only pondered it a moment before shaking his head and escaping to the doorway. He needed to block out the enticing image of her. A bold moan stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to turn back and fix her with a stern look.

The king knew that sound all too well. As he suspected, she had reclined against the pillows, her ruby eyes locked with the blue of his, hand caught between her legs to tease the seam of her desire. Even now she held herself open, making small, tight circles with one slender finger. Her eyebrow lifted in provocation, though she said nothing, only continued her obscene display. 

"Is this what you do when I do not visit your bedchamber?" he demanded, voice hoarse.

Her breath caught and quickened as she slid a finger inside and massaged herself with her thumb, the way he usually did. "Not anymore," she admitted. "I must have my king's permission to do such things." Her hips moved in rhythm with her finger, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He absently mused that it was pink, not red like the rest of her. _A pretty sight_ , he decided. "Sire," she breathed, "please let me come."

He shook his head. "No," he said firmly. She was hovering on the edge, but he knew she wouldn't go over without his approval. He felt smug that her own game had backfired.

"Please," she begged, using two fingers now, her thumb moving hard and fast on her throbbing skin. "Oh, I— "

"No." His voice was calm and stern. Abruptly he ordered her to pull her hand away from herself. She looked frustrated to the point of tears. His own body was rock hard from watching her, and he most certainly could not depart in such a state. Stannis cursed in irritation. "On your back, pet. I have something for you."

She move to lie all the way down, her eyes flashing with victory. "No," he stopped her. "The other way." Puzzled curiosity filled her eyes, but she turned as he ordered. He drank in the sight of her, head hanging off the end of his bed, her copper hair cascading over the edge. 

"Open your mouth," he instructed, unlacing his breeches and taking himself back out. She watched him with increasing understanding, eyes hungry and burning. 

"Are you— " 

He slid the head of his shaft between her lips before she could finish the question. To her credit, she moaned and began sucking immediately. It wasn't long before he gave himself over to the burning, tugging hunger of her mouth and the soft, swirling pressure of her tongue. He pulled out just to tease her, and she whined in frustration. "What do you want?” he demanded, holding himself as she waited.

"You, I want to please you!”

In some fit of mad, delirious lust, he desired to see her pink tongue once again. She presented it eagerly when asked. “ _Gods_ ," he cursed as he thrust back into her mouth. He felt her gag against the harsh intrusion, but she never stopped sucking hard, taking him deeper, moaning around him. " _Now_ you may touch yourself.”

The sound of thrusting in her mouth and her fingers as she played with herself filled the air, mingling with his groans and the sound she made as she hummed desperately around him. He saw her crazed need, how she restrained it, held off her release for him. It seemed her painstaking training had been worth it after all.

"Good girl," he whispered roughly, feeling himself near the edge. She made a noise of contentment at the praise, the sound stimulating his length even more. With one last thrust, he came hard in her mouth. She was swallowing, _gods above_ , but there was so much that some dribbled onto her chin. Her tongue stroked him even after the ecstasy subsided. He slid from between her lips and watched warily as she caught his spilled release on her fingers, licking his essence from them. Then, like a fiery siren, she smiled up at him. 

_Seven help me._

As the king tidied himself once more, she finally eased herself off the bed, careful not to arouse herself further. They said nothing as they dressed. After such a heated morning, both knew it would be a trying day. 

* * *

Indeed, the hours passed very slowly in his solar. It was as if the Great Other—or R'hllor himself—had caught time in his cruel grip. His body ached each time Melisandre's warm fingers drifted across his arm, each time her eyes found his across the room or her dulcet voice filled his ear. 

Between meetings and other dreadful duties, he finally tugged her into his lap, unable to resist the call of his siren any longer. Her lips immediately found the stubble of his sharp jaw. "Kitten," he groaned when she ground her bottom against his accursed hardness. "What's gotten into you?" She said nothing, only shifted her leg to straddle him like an animal. Rapid footfalls outside the door snapped him out of his madness. He stilled her thigh with an iron grip. "Stop that. There is someone out there."

She sighed impatiently. "Are you really going to talk to them with your thing like that?"

"My _thing?"_

"Your cock," she shouted. 

He clamped a hand to her foolish mouth, but it was too late to silence her. " _Melisandre_ ," he exhaled forcefully. "I will reward your patience tonight. Until then," he fixed her with a look that brooked no disagreement, "we must practice restraint." 

She studied him, eyes shining with an inexplicable fever. Then, like a young child testing her limits, she slowly reached out to touch his breeches. 

Stannis hastily caught her white wrist. "A different plan then. Naughty thing," he muttered. With that he shot to his feet, tugging her with him toward the door. "You wished to remain in my rooms, and there you shall return. If you are not abed when I arrive…trust me when I say you’ll regret it.” Defiance and frustration showed in her eyes. "Do you understand?” he demanded.

She lifted her chin and yanked open the door without a glance at him. "Very well, Sire.”

For those remaining torturous hours of the day, Stannis wondered if he'd actually find his priestess in his bed when he returned. _Or another man's._ A white-hot fury prickled his skin at the thought.  _Gods help her if that were the case._ He knew she wouldn't betray him in such a way, of course. She'd learned her lesson too many times to even consider it. These days it was an uneasy feeling without her at his side, drifting behind him or standing by the fire in his rooms. Men called her his red shadow. It was meant as mockery, but he'd always felt a secret pride to know she was  _his_. 

When the afternoon began to wane into evening, he finally lost patience and strode from his solar. That was when he heard her melodic laugh. Instead of calming his pounding heart, it froze him in his tracks. His apartments were not far, but her laughter was. He narrowed his blue eyes to scan the courtyard for red, quickly spotting her by the main keep of Castle Black. _With Jon Snow?_

_No._ With another man. And not just one man, but several. Dirty men, filthy men, criminals and rapists. Panic rose in his chest.

As he stalked down the stairs of the King's Tower, he vaguely began to pity her. Even for her, for this vixen who so loved to test him, it would be terrifying to face his anger tonight. The fools in black bowed as he approached, uneasy with the king's presence and his obvious displeasure. By contrast, Melisandre was beaming like a tavern wench. "Your Grace," she greeted cheerfully. 

"To my rooms," he interrupted. She tilted her pale face, gently brushing her long copper braid behind her shoulder. He narrowed his stormy eyes in warning. " _Now."_

The priestess turned to her companions with a pout. "My king commands me away, thus I take my leave. Good evening, men." 

Stannis wrenched her arm when she did not move quickly enough. "She is not some harlot for sale," he said loudly. The brothers balked. "Next time you see her unaccompanied, at nightfall no less, you shall do better to escort her to the safety of the King's Tower." They exchanged glances but mumbled their understanding. 

"And you," he turned his livid gaze to her. "You shall keep yourself away from these rogues." As he stormed carelessly through mud and ice, she trailed behind, showing little emotion. "Where are your guards?" he interrogated.

She lifted her scarlet eyes to glare at the hazy moon. "Preparing a collar and leash for me, no doubt." 

"Do not give me ideas," he muttered. "You know full well it unsettles me to see you unprotected.” She huffed in annoyance. When they had made it to his bedchamber, his hand stole beneath her silk skirts. She squirmed at the inspection, even as he found her thighs coated with desire. “You _do_ enjoy being bad,” he drawled.

The hellcat attempted to twist away, fists colliding with his gaunt chest. “You left me aching all day, you brute," she snapped. The return of her defiant nature incensed him. 

“Get on your hands and knees."

Her lovely lips twisted into a scowl. “I was good this morning,” she whined. “I was good and obedient and still you punish me.”

“ _Obedient?”_   He laughed sharply. “First you broke a thousand rules with your little performance this morning.” His strong fingers fisted in her hair, pulling her down with him to a chair and draping her across his lap. She squirmed and struggled, but he held her cheek down firmly against his knee. "Then you wander off to those whoring men, even after you forced me to lock you away." Eventually Melisandre gave up the fight, sighing irritably against his breeches. Satisfied with her submission, the king ran a rough hand up her thighs, dragging the delicate red silk with it.

The sight of her exposed bottom, so white and smooth, incited all manner of wicked thoughts in his mind. She yelped when his free hand came down hard against it. Once more his fingers dipped between her thighs to feel the wetness there. “Don't you understand?” he demanded. “They see you as their whore, Melisandre, if you parade yourself about like that.”

Her breath came out in little pants, so warm it appeared to cloud the chilled air like steam. “They do not.”

“What did they want, then?”

“The simple company of a priestess.”

The king laughed. “You think you're a  _priestess_ in their eyes?” A long finger ran between her slick legs again, causing her to shudder. "And yet you were hardly leading them in prayer when I found you. You are only now in the proper position for _that_.” She hid her face behind a curtain of copper hair, but he was not pleased with her silence. His hand stung against her thighs. “Well?”

“A priestess should pray without ceasing,” she offered. 

“How queer. I don’t see you praying. Why is that?”

She clenched her jaw, biting back a thousand retorts. “I must first…be punished?”

“For what?”

“I was bad, I displeased my king.”

He raked his hand over her calves, the curve of her bottom, up the smooth length of her spine. “Yes,” he said ruefully, “And are you thankful for your discipline?”

“Yes, Sire.” An expectant silence. “Thank you, Sire. For disciplining me.”

He seemed satisfied with that, to her relief. “You are not required to count this time,” he informed her. “You would only lose track.” With that his hand began to rain steady blows against her skin, while the other pinned her down harshly against his lap. She cried out and moaned desperately, trying to accept the lengthy punishment without breaking another rule. Each blow drove her further into his lap, and with each movement she could feel his arousal grow harder against her belly.

"Please," she whimpered, and he did not know if she were begging him to stop or begging him to continue. 

"I shall ask again. What are you?" 

She shifted herself desperately against his groin, attempting to relieve the ache in her own. "A whore," she whispered. 

"A whore?"

Her scarlet eyes fluttered at the feel of his hand ghosting her spine. " _Your_ whore, your pet, only yours…" 

It was the correct answer. But instead of rewarding her, he renewed his merciless blows against her skin. She did not protest, only nuzzled his thigh silently, hoping he'd be pleased with her compliance.

Eventually her bottom and thighs were a rosy, burning red, and Stannis could no longer restrain himself. "Stand up.” She reached out to grab on to his legs but failed to stand, barely managing to control her knees. “Are you alright, kitten?” he asked dryly. He grabbed her under her arms to hold her steady.

"I…" she started. "I just...I came, Sire."

His entire body throbbed at her words. The thought of her pleasure made him insane with lust, such that he tore her red gown clean from her body. The king manouvered her roughly, turning her around and forcing her into his lap once more.

"Oh," she murmured. Her legs were hoisted up so that they hung on either side of his, facing away from him. Before she could lift her gauzy shift over her head, his hand caught her wrists in a bruising grip.

"Leave it on," he hissed. He ripped at his own breeches and held himself between her burning thighs, steeling his primal urges for a modicum of control. Then he lifted and impaled her without warning, making her yelp in surprise. He panicked for a moment, thinking he had hurt her. But she only moaned and tried to move her hips, despite how awkwardly they were joined. He slipped out of her for a moment to better line them up, then thrust his full length into her. Again she squealed, this time so loud he was certain she'd wake the entire Wall.

"Show me what you've been longing for this whole day," he urged. "Show me, pet."

For several moments she struggled to find her balance, perched so precariously on his lap. Her toes barely skimmed the floor in her current position, and she was forced to support her hands on his knees if she wished to lift her hips up. Soon her arms were trembling with the effort of riding him. "Please," she gasped, "I cannot— "

The king took pity on her—or simply lost patience, if he were being honest. He grabbed her waist and slammed her back against his chest, such that her knees were bent, legs spread obscenely, her feet planted on his knees. His hands closed over her hips, firm and unyielding. Then he raised her hips up and down, fucked her hard, like he had that morning. It was madness, inexplicable madness, nothing more than animalistic mating. And yet it was something more, something just as inexplicable. "Yes," she cried over and over. He wasn't giving any thought to the movement of his hands, or the rhythm of his movements, he just wanted to claim her. _She was his, his, only his._ He owned her, and he felt it with every thrust, every time he filled her burning body with his, every time her body shook with pleasure and her lips cried his name. 

He groaned against her neck. "You are— "

"Yours…"

_Mine, yes. Mine, mine._

When he came, it hit him hard and fast. A few lightning bolts of pleasure, and suddenly the energy drained from him. She came a moment after he did, their bodies freezing at the same time, pausing for one pleasure-filled moment before they released their breath. Her pale hands relaxed from where they had been gripping his forearms for leverage. He felt the blood rushing back to his skin, the cool air clearing the crazed lust in his mind. She went nearly limp against his chest, hands falling uselessly to her sides.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She managed to nod. Another breathless moment passed, and he gently coaxed her to turn his lap. His seed trickled down her thigh, but he couldn't be bothered to clean them up at that moment. He gathered her up and pressed his forehead to hers, now nearly unable to see her in the darkness. "Are you certain nothing's gotten into you?" he ventured. 

His priestess said nothing for a long moment. Then her voice broke the silence, less than innocent. "I may have partaken of a small amount of my aphrodisiac."

"You  _what?"_

Her ruby lips curved in the silver-blue moonlight. "I only wanted to try it, to see if it would change the way I felt, or the way I see the world," she said softly. "It was…stronger than expected." 

Stannis shook his head, utterly spent. "A taste of your own medicine, you insatiable thing." 

"Indeed," she purred. He felt a small smile tug at his lips when she curled against his chest, arms winding about his lean torso. 

"Do not make yourself so comfortable," he said dryly. "I must light a candle." When he began to disengage from her, she made a noise of protest. He sighed. "Melisandre, would you have us sit here in the dark all night?"

"Yes," she replied, to his shock. He felt her press a kiss to his chest. "The darkness holds no terror, not anymore. Not so long as you are with me." 


	12. Indelible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With Stannis there, her bed saw plenty of use._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err….just Stannis and Mel at Castle Black. This is very serious canon material. Enjoy :) ~
> 
> xx

She sat demurely between his legs, her skin luminous and pearl-white, even in the glow of the fire. Her eyes followed his movements with detached curiosity. 

It was all too easy to sneak a glance at her and admire the view in return. He appreciated how she was strong, graceful, so very different from other women. That she was feminine and warm and often dangerous. When those red eyes met his, he felt as though he'd been caught. She smiled coyly.

Stannis willed himself back to command, suppressing his desire to worship every inch of her. He was swamped with letters that had arrived to Castle Black far too late in the afternoon, business he hadn’t found time for during a suffocating day in the king’s solar, and now it piled up all around them in bed. There was a pounding in his temples and fatigue in his bones, but gods be damned if he could not push through it all. 

“My king— "

“Not now _,_ ” Stannis snapped. He rattled the letters at her, blocking her from sight once more. 

She humoured him with a moment’s silence. He knew her game—the submissive act was oft quite convincing. If he were ever to believe it, truly, it would be his fatal mistake.

Warm lips suddenly brushed his feet at the edge of the bed, his calves, the sharp jut of a kneecap. Her movements granted him a view of the delectable curve of her bottom. His cock stiffened instantly. How infuriatingly clever she was.

“You should not drag such duties into the bedchamber,” she sighed, working her way up his thighs. At his continued aloofness she tried to ply the parchment from his hands. “You should be devoted to R’hllor during these hours, instead you disrespect the very source of your power. You are not— ” 

Stannis set the letters down violently on the little table next to her bed. Harsh fingers caught her jaw in a bruising hold, forcing her to fall perfectly silent again. “Do not lecture me,” he said flatly. She shivered at the quiet ice in his voice, wisely lowering her gaze. “I care neither for your preaching nor games tonight. Go sit by your fire.”

“But— "

“Do you need a lesson in obedience to your sovereign?"

Melisandre's eyes widened in surprise. _Was she understanding that he truly did care for games tonight, and exactly the rough, intricate kind she craved?_   The priestess glanced down, seeing the telltale outline of him rigid against his breeches. “No…however Your Grace wishes I behave, only tell me.” Her fingers ghosted the laces. 

 _Yes_. “No, Melisandre." Every attempt to dislodge her only increased the stiffness in his groin. 

“But I have distracted you,” she purred softly. 

His hand bothered with no light scoldings, simply encircled the pale column of her throat. “That you have. I can snap your pretty little neck like a twig, bend that ruby choker with it,” he said wryly. “Is this what you want? To tempt me into madness with these _distractions?”_

"No, Sire. I must correct my errors." He was undone now, exposed to the brisk northern air, a drop of moisture gathering at the tip of his cock. "Is this my lesson, Sire?” He hissed as she ducked and licked from the base to the head, swirling her tongue in the stickiness. Her eyes danced with red, red fire. “Will you teach me to be a proper servant?"

He gripped her copper hair and tugged none too gently. “Let us see how you serve me," he growled, "and then I shall decide what lessons are required.”

She seemed thrilled by the challenge. He knew that part of her as it mirrored his own innate perfectionism. She loved to do things well, and to be praised for it, no matter how she pretended to dedicate everything to R’hllor’s glory. Stannis was amused by the idea of it until his cock hit the back of her throat.

“ _Gods_.” 

Melisandre moaned around him, both excited at his pleasure and annoyed with his blasphemy. She enjoyed pleasing him in this way, and had proven a quick learner when he finally overcame his distaste and shame of the act. Sometimes he awoke with her head bobbing in his lap, red hair mussed and falling from its braid, and he was simply incapable of pushing her away, forced to spill himself down her throat. One morning he had tried to reciprocate, waking her with his head between her legs. Never again would he attempt such folly. She had kicked him squarely in the head like a mule, dazed and skittish, before coming to her senses.

Stannis twisted his fingers in her hair, pulling her back so he could look into her scarlet eyes.

The things he saw fascinated him. There was desire, adoration, sadness—always that—and something else. He could never define this other thing, except to say that it was always there, sometimes pulsing with her ruby, other times muted. Its strangeness set him on edge, yet it also bewitched him, made him want to look at her more, as if he could reach some kind of understanding if he studied her long enough. 

She gagged and he realised he'd become careless in guiding her movements. The king pulled her firmly away, heart hammering violently. "That will do for now."

His priestess was disappointed and did nothing to hide it, swollen lips falling into an impatient pout. "I want to bring you pleasure.”

"Your wish is not unknown to me.” She continued her sulking as he laced himself back up. “I have work to finish, Melisandre. It is not open for discussion."

"Perhaps you should return to your own chambers,” she muttered, eyes burning him like twin fires.

"I'd be willing to put you over my knee, if that would serve you better." He saw her tense slightly, and kept his gaze very stern. "I will give you another chance to behave. Lie down and _be quiet.”_

Sensing no weakness in his disposition tonight, Melisandre obeyed, reluctantly sliding off his lap to lie on her side of the bed. After a few minutes she exhaled, restless with longing. “Still squirming like a cat in heat,” he grimaced, not looking up from his work. “Why don’t you touch yourself for some relief?”

“But— "

“You have my permission.” 

The priestess watched him carefully, gaze wary with uncertainty. She settled on her side, allowing her robe to slide up and apart until her lower body was exposed to the chilly air. One hand slipped between her thighs, the other gripping a fistful of red silk at her hip. Her eyes fluttered closed after a moment, the pleasure building to a simple climax, the fire warming her bare skin. But it was not enough. “Please,” she ventured, breaking the silence.

Stannis groaned impatiently, fingers wrinkling parchment in his brusqueness. “Please _what?”_

“What do you think? I want you to fuck me.”

“You know I don’t like you speaking so vulgar.”

Melisandre twisted amongst her red robes in frustration, fingers still locked between her legs. “My king!” she whined. “You were so close to release, I know you were.”

But her king was disciplined. Only the faint _tick_ of a tense jaw muscle betrayed his aching need. 

"Sire, please use me," she persisted. "I will take your seed any way you wish. Only let me pleasure you.”

Stannis finally held the distracting letters to one side, glancing down to study her. _What a sight!_ Her cheeks were flushed, the coppery beauty of her hair splayed across her pillows like some fiery goddess, never-ending silk layers bunched around her slender waist. And those red, red eyes watching him in return, waiting for whatever he should do next. “You are maddening,” he muttered.

Her mouth curled up at the corners, a subtle acknowledgement of victory. “Me, Sire?”

He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, groaning when she nipped the very tip of his finger. _Fire can be dangerous even as it is soft,_ he reminded himself. A shake of the head broke his reverie. “You. Lie back and spread your legs.” Her eyes lit up, but he shook his head in amusement. “I will not take you tonight. But if you can resist your release until I am finished with my work, you may have it. Only then.” And just like that his blue gaze returned to the parchment, even as his free hand settled between her thighs.

“Well…alright,” she breathed, shifting to accommodate a large hand where hers just was.

“I should not be so weak around you.”

“Hm,” she smiled.

“Even when I seem to have control, that is when I am beaten! Yes, I give in…every time…”

“You do.”

His palm stung against her thigh, blue eyes darting sharply to hers. “Quiet.” 

“Oh. Are you making a speech to yourself?”

Stannis groaned in exasperation. “Mayhaps I am confessing to your red god, woman.”

“Mayhaps.”

“And will you stand in way of my newfound devotion?”

“Nn—mh— “ Her breath caught in a small moan, hips bucking against his teasing fingers. “No.” 

“No, I thought not. I thought you’d be pleased to hear you’ve won in that regard as well. Now, I find it honourable that a man should know his faults, and that he should know when to admit them aloud. A way of cleansing the conscience…I must become thus disciplined. So if I might also quiet your religious scolding by confessing so to R’hllor, well, I find myself an efficient man indeed. Striking down two targets with one arrow, as it were.”

“Are you— _mmh_ —!”

“What?” He glanced down at her writhing body. “Oh. Yes, almost finished.” 

“Me too,” she panted. 

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “My poor priestess. Be patient.”

”I want only—to please you— ” She was breathless, her body aching from the deep roughness of his voice, the merciless strength of his hands. He was the only man who had ever touched her like this—with a look, with a disappointed silence. His fingers moved deeper, methodically, filling her completely and then stretching her further. He would bring her to climax too soon. “Your Grace," she breathed sweetly, "you know I was trained to come on your cock."

Stannis shoved the letters away. “Very well, my work is done." In truth he hadn't completed much at all, but there was no way to focus with her wicked words torturing his body. "Are you still in want?”

She made a desperate noise and pounced on him, initiating a hungry kiss. Her tongue slid against his, twisting. He groaned. Her mouth was already rosy and swollen from being used, and they were both struggling for breath. "Fuck me,” she demanded. Her pale hand snaked down to rub him through his breeches. He grabbed her head to feel the softness of her mouth again, even as he entertained the idea of sinking into her feverish little cunt— 

_No._

Stannis exhaled harshly. “You do not get to be taken today. That was your punishment.” He drew her across his lap, parting slender legs with his right hand, admiring her glistening skin, exposed and laid out for him. His fingers ran lightly over the slickness between her legs again. “Red and burning all over, aren’t you?”

She tried to close her legs as he began to stroke her swollen clit. He tapped her right thigh in disapproval. "No." Relaxing instantly, she permitted him to position her to his satisfaction. "You are going to learn your lesson now," he said solemnly. He spread her wider this time, hooking her left leg with his foot, rendering her open and helpless. His fingers brushed that bundle of nerves once more. 

“S— _mmph_ —”

“Hush.” His arm was across her chest, restraining her, crushing her sensitive nipples. "You will come however I want you to come." She struggled, and he brought his hand down sharply between her legs. 

She writhed, voice hoarse now. “No, n-no…” But his arm tightened like iron against her, holding her to him.

"If I tell you to come on my hand like a whore, you will do so." She tried to arch away from him, but he pushed three fingers inside her, feeling a rush of liquid desire as she clenched around them. "Look at your beautiful body, my pet. Why don’t you listen to it?" He twisted his fingers and she writhed like an animal. “Stop fighting. You are powerless.”

Her moans were deeper now, so close, and his cock was so hard, digging insistently into the small of her back, _so_ _hard he could barely think._ She shook her head, trying to find a way to take control. “I won’t, Sire, I… “ He could feel the heat rolling off of her. "I won't come for you. I won't come—until you—” 

He raised his hand and smacked her sex with his calloused palm once more. “Good girl, scream for me. Just like that." He knew she couldn’t defend herself anymore, knew she was finally surrendering. He was on the verge of release himself, stimulated by her bottom wriggling and grinding in his lap.

His fingers moved fast and hard. “You are going to come for me now,” he said simply. It was authoritative, a fact. Frustrated tears leaked from her eyes as she broke, her entire body trembling with her orgasm. His fingers were caught inside the tight velvet of her body until she went entirely limp in his arms. 

_Victory._

* * *

“I wanted to please you,” she murmured afterward, stubbornly drifting in and out of rest. She was curled in his lap once more, and he was silent, stroking her fiery hair. _Worshipping her as he inevitably did._

“Nothing could please me more than your submission."

Her eyes were almost too heavy to keep open. "But…you had no release…"

"Do you know what I value most from your company?" The king brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "You are a strong advisor, graceful and confident. You are different from other women, bearing my standard wherever we go, speaking in my war councils. I care not for gods but I admire your skills as a priestess, your conviction and your faith. And yes…no matter what game we play, you bring me pleasure beyond belief." Her breathing evened out, eyes closing as he pulled her back against his chest. "But above all, my shadow…I am proud of your tears and ecstasies, the indelible feel of you in my arms, broken and vulnerable…only for your king. Do you know what a gift you give me?”

By then she had succumbed to sleep, a little smile curving her lips. Stannis pulled her hips flush to his.  _Yes._ This was more satisfying than any bodily pleasure.

Even so, he didn't exactly complain when he finally buried his cock inside her, muffling her sleepy cries with a firm hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want a Stannis for my bed, where do I get one


End file.
